


Denouement (Love is Almost Always Accidental)

by galacticsugar



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Anna and the French Kiss AU, Ashton's parents send him to boarding school in Paris, Chicago (City), Drinking, Friends to Lovers, Luke is there and that is a Problem for him, M/M, Paris (City), Pining, Side Luke/Zayn, Slow Burn, Swearing, lots of pastries and desserts because i am me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28712667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticsugar/pseuds/galacticsugar
Summary: It’s 9pm on Sunday night and Ashton is alone in his room, crying. Oh, and he’s in Paris. Tomorrow he starts his senior year of high school, something he had been looking forward to pretty much his entire life. But then his parents had to go and ruin it by sending Ashton to boarding school in Paris for his final year of high school.***Ashton's parents send him to boarding school in Paris, where he is immediately charmed by Luke. Unfortunately, Luke has a boyfriend.
Relationships: Ashton Irwin & Harry Styles, Calum Hood & Ashton Irwin, Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford & Ashton Irwin
Comments: 18
Kudos: 43





	Denouement (Love is Almost Always Accidental)

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is based on **[anna and the french kiss](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6936382-anna-and-the-french-kiss?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=haT0MRNQyJ&rank=1)** by stephanie perkins. if you're not familiar, it's one of the fluffiest slowburn ya contemporary romances ever written. 
> 
> this was my first time writing something based on something else and it was weird for me to find the right mix of inspiration from source material and originality. there are some parts of this that are VERY accurate to the book but for the most part it is a loose interpretation. 
> 
> much like ashton in this fic, i do not speak french, so the tiny bit of french that appears in the story is largely based on google translate so apologies to the entire french language if I screwed anything up. BUT! portrayals of paris and chicago should be geographically accurate because for some reason that's the only thing i care about making realistic in my fics.
> 
> thank you so much to everyone's fave lil' wayne, [mandie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanluke), for reading through this and reassuring me that it is worthy of putting out into the world.
> 
> title from **denouement** by baumer.

It’s 9pm on Sunday night and Ashton is alone in his room, crying. Oh, and he’s in _Paris._ Tomorrow he starts his senior year of high school, something he had been looking forward to pretty much his entire life. But then his parents had to go and ruin it by sending Ashton to _boarding school_ in _Paris_ for his final year of high school.

Why, exactly, did they think this was a good idea? Ashton is certain his famous-music-producer father is just trying to show off how rich and fancy he is by sending Ashton to a rich and fancy boarding school. Why does such a thing as an English school in Paris even exist?

Why his mother went along with this is a mystery to him. She divorced Ashton’s dad years ago when his ego started getting out of control. All Ashton can figure is it’s just easier, sending him away to another country for a year than it is to try to argue with his dad. Ashton almost understands. His dad is a real pill.

He knows he should be grateful. Lots of kids would kill for the chance to spend a parent-free year in Paris. But the thing is, Ashton just feels unmoored. He doesn’t speak French. He doesn’t know any of his classmates, but they’ve all known each other for years. He’s going from a class of 400 back home in Chicago to a class of 25 in Paris. He left behind his best friend, Harry, and his big fat crush, Liam (just when things were starting to get good, he might add). And he didn’t have a choice in any of it. No one asked him if he wanted to go to school in Paris. His parents just packed him up and dropped him there like an unwanted day-old baguette.

It’s just a lot. He’s scared and uncomfortable and above all, he’s homesick. So he’s crying. A lot. It’s kind of embarrassing how much. He can hear the bustle of his classmates in the hallway as they get situated in their dorms and greet each other after summers apart. It just makes him cry harder, because he has no one waiting for him.

There are a lot of sirens in Paris. It seems like every few minutes Ashton’s despairing thoughts are interrupted by the insistent beep of some sort of emergency vehicle. It’s convenient, though, because it helps drown out the sound of Ashton’s sobs. He’s not usually like this. Normally he’s excited about new opportunities, but he supposes Paris brings out the worst in him.

There’s a knock on Ashton’s door – at first he thinks it’s just someone accidentally bumping into it with a box or suitcase as they pass by – but then it happens again, more loudly. Ashton wipes his eyes and drags himself over to open the door. He’s met with the concerned smile of a tall boy with kind brown eyes. “Are you okay? I thought I heard you crying.”

“Oh my god.” Ashton covers his face with his hands. Here he thought he was being subtle.

“It’s okay. I was homesick the first night too,” the boy says, gently tugging Ashton’s hands off his face. “I’m Calum. You must be Ashton.”

“Yeah. How did you know?” Ashton asks weakly, voice still wobbly from crying.

“Everyone knows.” Calum smiles. “You’re the only new senior this year.”

“Fantastic.” Ashton throws his head back and stares at his ceiling, hoping maybe the ground will open up and swallow him whole.

“I know what will help. Hot chocolate. I have some in my room if you want.” Calum’s voice is calm and reassuring, and Ashton is inclined to agree with anything he says if it means he’s not alone in his room sobbing, so he nods. Calum smiles and gestures for Ashton to follow him the three steps down the hall to his room.

“Wow.” Ashton looks around Calum’s room in awe, taking in the myriad of posters (lots of soccer players) and photos and knickknacks scattered around the room. Compared to Ashton’s stark walls and empty shelves, Calum’s room feels cozy, warm and lived-in.

“I know, it’s a bit much,” Calum says, turning on a hot plate and pulling mugs from a nearby shelf. “I just can’t stand plain walls.”

“No, I love it.” Ashton picks up a framed photo from the desk and studies it, picking Calum out of a group of people on the steps of an impressive-looking building. Despite the soccer posters screaming _jock_ , Calum’s friends look like an artsy crew, if the amount of black clothing and deliberately mussed hair on the people in the photo is anything to go by.

“That’s Luke,” Calum says, pointing at the photo, “And Michael, and Zayn. You’ll meet Luke and Michael soon; they both go to school here. Zayn’s Luke’s boyfriend, but he graduated last year and now he goes to Parson’s, so we don’t see him as much.”

Ashton’s overcome with gratitude for Calum, who in five minutes has already consoled Ashton, made him hot chocolate, and offered up his entire friend group to share. “They look nice,” he says, gently placing the photo back in its place on the desk.

“You’re going to love them.” Calum hands Ashton a mug. “Well, Michael takes a little getting used to.”

“Thanks,” Ashton says, taking a sip of incredibly rich hot chocolate. “You’re right, this does help.”

Calum grins, pleased. “Don’t worry, Ashton. You’re going to love it here once you get settled.”

Ashton isn’t so sure, but he appreciates Calum’s attempts to cheer him up. “What’s with the –” he gestures at the walls “—soccer guys?”

“Oh, I play soccer back home in the summer. I miss it a lot when I’m here since they don’t have sports at this school.”

“Have you looked into rec programs or anything? I bet there’s something you could do here.” Ashton’s a problem-solver by nature, and Calum has been so kind to him he feels almost desperate to solve this particular problem.

“That hadn’t actually occurred to me.” Calum seems pleasantly surprised that Ashton is useful enough to come up with such a thing. “I’ll definitely look into it.” Calum twists the ring on this thumb absently. “You could join me if you want.”

Ashton barks out a laugh. “Thanks for the offer, but you really don’t want that. I’d be terrible at soccer. Plus I don’t speak French, so I’d have no idea what’s going on.”

“You don’t speak French?” Calum appears to be trying very hard not to look appalled by this revelation.

Ashton shakes his head. “One of many reasons I’m not exactly thrilled to be here. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I’m enrolled in first year French with all the freshmen.”

Calum grimaces. He looks sorry for Ashton, which would normally bother him, but in this particular instance Ashton’s feeling pretty damn sorry for himself and he’s just grateful for the validation. Calum perks up suddenly. “But hey, I’m amazing at French! I can help you if you want.”

“I might take you up on that,” Ashton says, polishing off the last of his drink. “Languages aren’t really my forte. English included.”

Calum laughs and takes Ashton’s mug from his hands to place it in the sink in the corner. “What other classes are you –” he’s interrupted by his phone buzzing. “Oh, that’s probably my mom. She calls every night at ten.”

“Fuck, is it ten already? I should go. I’m sorry for taking so much of your time. Thank you for the hot chocolate.”

Calum smiles and waves him off as he answers his phone. “You’re always welcome. I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.” Ashton awkwardly hurries out the door, waving over his shoulder. He closes the door gently behind him, turning towards his own room, then immediately smacks into something warm and large. A boy.

“Sorry!” Ashton’s face flames. Not exactly the sort of first impression he wants to make on any of his new peers.

The boy shakes his head, trying to get his bearings. Ashton notices his hair – dark blonde, fluffy curls, somehow both messy and styled at the same time. Musician hair, Ashton thinks. Very, very good hair.

“It’s okay. Are you okay?”

His voice is lovely and deep and, wow, he has an Australian accent. Ashton hates being a cliché, but he’s a sucker for a good accent.

“Is Calum in?” The boy is staring at Ashton, a little confused and a little concerned. Fuck, his eyes are so blue.

Ashton realizes the boy is waiting for him to say something. “Oh, yes! I was just there. With Calum. Calum is in.” Seriously, _what_ is wrong with him?! But for some reason Ashton can’t stop talking, even though the boy is looking at him like he’s speaking another language. “I’m Ashton! I live next door to Calum.”

The beautiful boy smiles. “I’m Luke,” he says. “I live upstairs.”

Luke. Luke with the amazing hair and the bluest blue eyes and, apparently, the world’s best smile. Ashton stares dumbly.

Luke knocks on Calum’s door. “I’ll see you later, Ashton.”

Calum’s door opens and Luke can see Calum smiling excitedly with his phone still pressed to his ear. “Luke!” he mouths, pulling Luke into a hug. “Mom, Luke just got here, I gotta go.” He tugs Luke into his room and the door closes behind them. Ashton’s still standing in the hallway. Alone.

***

At breakfast the next morning, Ashton pauses at the entry of the cafeteria, unsure of how to proceed. He closes his umbrella (no one ever tells you it rains in Paris _all the time_ ) and his eyes scan over the menu board nervously. It’s all in French. He really doesn’t want to accidentally order snails for breakfast or something.

“Ashton!” A voice cuts through the clamor of students chattering and silverware clinking. Ashton spots Calum across the room, waving him over to a table. He sighs in relief and shuffles over to the table.

“Thanks for saving me a spot,” he says, settling into the empty chair next to Calum. One of the boys from Calum’s picture is seated across the table from him.

“No problem,” Calum says, brow creased with concern. No doubt wondering how Ashton has managed to exist seventeen years on planet earth while being _this_ clueless. “This is Ashton, the guy I was telling you about.”

“Michael,” the boy across the table grunts, giving Ashton a brief nod. Michael has unruly bright red hair, giant green eyes, and stark black tattoos on his arms. He is _clearly_ much cooler than Ashton. But it’s fine.

“Luke will be here soon,” Calum says excitedly.

“I think I ran into him last night. Literally,” Ashton replies.

“Tall, great hair, Australian accent?” Calum asks.

“That’s the one.”

Michael chuckles to himself.

“Lay off, Michael,” Calum says.

Michael throws up his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

Calum narrows his eyes. Ashton feels like he’s missed something.

“It’s not my fault everyone’s obsessed with Luke,” Michael says with a shrug.

“Who’s obsessed with me?” The voice startles Calum and Ashton. It’s beautiful hallway boy. Luke. He’s wet from the rain and his shirt is clinging to his chest and shoulders pornographically.

“I am.” Michael pretends to swoon.

“Aww, thanks mate. I’m obsessed with you too.”

“Does this mean you’re finally going to dump Zayn and make an honest man out of me?” Michael asks.

Right. _Zayn._ The boyfriend. Luke shrugs. “I just figured we’d go for polyamory.”

Michael scrunches his face in disgust. “Sorry, no can do. Zayn’s not my type.”

Unbothered, Luke tosses his bag on the ground and sits in the empty seat between Ashton and Michael. “Ashton!” He seems pleasantly surprised to see Ashton at the table, and Ashton is shocked he even remembers him, but he has been rendered incapable of speech as he watches water droplets from Luke’s hair run down his neck and onto the collar of his shirt. What. The. Fuck.

“Looks like you still need to get your breakfast,” Luke says, snapping Ashton out of whatever spell he was under. “Join me?” He pushes back his chair and looks at Ashton expectantly.

Ashton follows him toward the line. “I’m not sure how to order,” he blurts at Luke’s back.

Luke looks back at him over his shoulder. “Right, you don’t speak French.”

Calum must have told him. Ashton’s not sure whether to be flattered or concerned that Calum and Luke were talking about him, but he must admit he’s pleased Luke felt it was information worth remembering. “That’s not entirely true,” Ashton says. “I can say _oui_.”

Luke smiles at him as they approach the serving line. “Gotta start somewhere.” He points at the menu board. “It’s pretty foolproof. It’s mostly just different kinds of bread. You could probably point at anything and wind up with delicious carbohydrates.”

Ashton nods. “No snails?” he asks.

Luke chuckles and bites his lip. What. The. Fuck. “No snails, I promise.”

The man behind the counter yells something in French and Ashton startles. “Go on then,” Luke encourages, nodding toward the menu board.

Ashton shakes his head and points cluelessly at the board. _Brioche_. The annoyed Frenchman nods and passes Ashton a plate of thick, soft bread covered in what looks like baked pears. He must admit, it does look delicious.

He turns to Luke, excited to show off his fancy pear bread, and catches Luke’s eyes swooping up and down his body shamelessly. Is _Luke_ checking _Ashton_ out? It certainly seems that way, but Luke doesn’t seem to realize (or maybe just doesn’t care) that Ashton caught him.

“Brioche, excellent choice. Same for me, Monsieur,” Luke says to the annoyed Frenchman. Except, for some reason, the annoyed Frenchman doesn’t seem annoyed with Luke. He smiles pleasantly as he hands Luke a plate and Ashton rolls his eyes.

“What?” Luke grabs a pear slice off his plate and pops it in his mouth.

“Michael wasn’t wrong that everyone’s obsessed with you.”

Luke raises his eyebrows and smirks. “He said _everyone_ is obsessed with me?”

“Yup. Including but not limited to hairy middle-aged French chefs.”

Luke giggles, a high-pitched wheeze that should sound ridiculous but somehow just makes him even more endearing.

“Are _you_ obsessed with me yet, then?” Luke smiles slyly at Ashton.

Ashton’s fully prepared to lay on some heavy-duty flirting, when he remembers… _Luke has a boyfriend_. “Me? No, I have taste.”

Luke gasps. “But Ashton! You would be starving to death without me!”

Ashton shrugs. “Calum would’ve helped me,” he replies haughtily.

“You really know how to break a guy’s heart,” Luke says, leading them back to their table. Calum and Michael are deep in conversation about their class schedules for the semester, so Ashton silently flips Luke off as he takes his seat. Luke just laughs and snatches a pear slice off of Ashton’s plate.

***

After breakfast, they kill some time outside before their first class. Ashton’s huddled up with Calum and Michael under an awning to try to stay out of the rain while Luke chats on the phone with his mum. Ashton is only half paying attention to the other boys, distracted with watching Luke pace back and forth in front of the courtyard fountain, phone to his ear and face animated as he talks.

“You look like a total creep,” Michael says.

Ashton snaps his eyes back to the boys in front of him, face heating in embarrassment at being caught. But Michael’s staring pointedly at Calum, shaking his head in disgust. “You’re so obvious, Cal. It’s pathetic how obsessed you are with Luke.” Calum’s face falls.

 _Oh_. So not only does Luke already have a boyfriend, Calum _also_ has a crush on him. Calum is possibly the nicest person Ashton has ever met, and Ashton has no desire to do anything that might upset Calum. Although he supposes can’t really stop himself from lusting after Luke. Hormones, that sort of thing. He’s tempted to reveal his own small crush to Calum – maybe they can commiserate. But before he gets the words out, Calum turns to Ashton, eyes pleading. “Promise you won’t tell him?”

Ashton mimics zipping his lips. “Not a word.”

***

At lunch, Ashton is relieved to see Calum has saved him a seat again. Luke’s already at the table, and he’s fielding an onslaught of questions from Calum about Zayn.

“Have you seen Zayn yet since you got back?”

Luke looks bored. “No. I’ll probably see him tonight.” He picks at his sandwich.

“Have his classes started already? I haven’t heard from him in weeks.”

“Dunno. He’s been busy so I guess he probably has.” Luke’s eyes dart around the table, like he’s looking for an escape. They brighten when they land on Ashton. “How was French class, Ash?”

“You don’t know?” Calum cuts in before Ashton can answer. “How do you not know if your boyfriend has started classes yet?”

Luke shrugs and keeps his attention on Ashton. “It’s not a big deal. Unlike Ashton’s first day of French. So, what’s the verdict? Are you fluent yet?”

Ashton sticks his tongue out and makes a face of pure disgust. “Not quite. It was terrifying, actually. I was too busy being scared of the Professor to learn anything.” Professor Heineman _looks_ like a friendly guy, with his elbow-patch plaid jacket and messy gray hair, but Ashton quickly learned that he runs his French class like military boot camp.

Luke grins and snags the baguette off Ashton’s tray. “Good thing you have me to teach you all the important bread words then.” He tears off a piece of the baguette and puts it in his mouth. “Mmph,” he says while chewing, “this is really good.”

Ashton leans over the table and snatches the baguette out of Luke’s hand. “Bread thief,” he mutters, sharing a secret smile with Luke when their eyes meet.

“Consider it payment for your French lessons.” Luke’s mouth is still working at the chewy piece of baguette and Ashton is transfixed. He realizes, with a great deal of shame, that he’d probably buy tickets to watch Luke eat lunch. This is Very Bad.

“Will I always have to pay you in the form of the words you’re currently teaching me?” Ashton asks.

Luke’s eyebrows raise and he bites his bottom lip. Ashton is starting to think this is a habit of Luke’s, and he’s not sure he’s prepared to deal with it for the entire academic year. Ashton does not need any additional incentive to think about Luke’s lips, thank you very much. “I really like that idea,” Luke says with a mischievous grin. “I already have some great ideas for future lesson plans.”

“I’ll bet you do.” Ashton surprises himself with how provocative his voice sounds.

Michael clears his throat loudly and Ashton suddenly remembers there are other people at the table. When he looks over, Michael is giving him and Luke a warning glare. Calum’s head is buried in his phone and he appears not to have been paying much attention, but Ashton still feels guilty. Flirting with Luke is bad enough on its own. _He has a boyfriend_. But flirting with Luke in front of Calum…Ashton’s going to have to be much more careful.

***

Harry’s the first to email, which is a small victory for Ashton. It means he’s been preoccupied from his homesickness long enough that his best friend had a chance to miss him before he had a chance to miss Harry. (That first night of sobbing doesn’t count. Anything pre-hot chocolate with Calum may as well be a fever dream as far as Ashton is concerned.)

In his message, Harry tells Ashton about work at Reckless Records, which also happens to be where Liam works. They all worked there together, in fact, before Ashton’s parents shipped him off. It’s good timing for a Liam update from Harry, because Ashton could do with a reminder of how cute and lovely Liam is right about now. Better to lust after Liam, who might actually be attainable (never mind the fact that he’s thousands of miles away), than to lust after Luke, who is so incredibly off-limits.

Harry tells Ashton that Liam recently asked him if he’d be interested in joining his band, and Harry is seriously considering it. Ashton hopes he does, because Harry is an amazing performer who deserves to be in the spotlight. Not to mention it would probably lead to Ashton getting more inside scoop on Liam if Harry spent more time with him. Win-win, really.

Ashton responds to Harry’s email and encourages him to join the band, and he can’t help himself – he also tells Harry _all_ about Luke. Like, an embarrassing amount. He needs to get it off his chest and it doesn’t feel right to talk to Calum about it. He doesn’t even know that much about Luke, but what he does know, he passes along to Harry in great detail. To be fair, Harry asked if he’d met any cute boys in Paris.

At breakfast the next morning, Luke appears with two coffee cups, one of which he sets in front of Ashton. “If you’re going to fit in here you need to start drinking coffee.”

“You don’t have to convince me. I love coffee.” Ashton eagerly grabs the mug and takes a long drink, letting out a satisfied “ahhh” after he swallows. It’s been at least a week since he’s had any coffee. It’s not like he knows where the nearest coffee shops are, and he certainly doesn’t know how to actually order a drink.

Luke seems to make this connection as he watches Ashton devour his coffee. “Don’t tell me you’ve been too scared to get coffee.”

“Okay, I won’t.” Ashton takes another big gulp, barely even trying to mask his guilt.

Luke laughs, turning to Ashton with a huge grin, and Ashton nearly chokes on his coffee. He’s just so beautiful, with his blue eyes shining and his bright, contagious smile. Ashton thinks he even catches the ghost of a dimple appearing under the stubble on Luke’s cheek. He’s been trying to stay sane by reminding himself of his crush on Liam, but how is Ashton supposed to compare Liam to _Luke_? Liam is cute, but Luke is something else altogether.

***

There’s a buzz in the dorm hallway Friday night as the juniors and seniors bustle around, preparing to go out to bars and clubs. It’s legal for them to drink beer and wine in France, and all week Ashton has been overhearing his classmates whining about how much they missed going out when they were home for the summer. It seems like the entire school is planning on spending their first weekend back getting wasted. Ashton has other plans, however.

It’s barely dinnertime and he’s already in sweatpants. Harry will be calling in a few hours, and in the meantime Ashton’s cruising around Spotify, working on curating a playlist that perfectly suits his mood. It’s called _Is Denouement a French Word?,_ and initially Ashton was trying to make it pretty emo. He wanted something to cry to, something to help him let out his homesickness and his frustration at his current situation. But in reality, it’s actually become kind of sexy. Apparently, Ashton is sad _and_ horny. Or maybe just horny. It doesn’t escape his notice that maybe he’s not actually that homesick anymore.

He is, however, still terrified of trying to exist in Paris outside of the English-speaking school campus. He’s starving, but the school cafeteria isn’t open for dinner and he doesn’t even know where to begin with ordering food from a restaurant. He’s trying to decide whether a candy bar from the dorm vending machine is sufficient dinner when there’s a knock on his door, followed by Luke’s voice. “Aaaaaashton, I know you’re in there.”

Ashton can reach the doorknob from his desk chair, so he leans back and opens the door a crack. “I thought you had plans with Zayn tonight.”

Luke pushes the door open and deftly catches Ashton’s arm as it drops from the force, saving him from falling backwards out of his desk chair. “How do you know what my plans are?” he asks, making sure Ashton is steady before letting go of his arm.

“Have you ever had a –” Ashton glances at the candy bar in his hand “—Lion! Bar?” He squints at the wrapper, bewildered. “Lion! With an exclamation point. That’s kind of aggressive.”

“We’re going out,” Luke says, falling onto Ashton’s bed. “After you get dressed,” he adds, eyeing Ashton’s sweatpants.

“What, are you so fancy you’ve never worn sweatpants before? Do you lounge around in three-piece suits?”

Luke gestures at his outfit – black skinny jeans, a graphic T, worn black boots. “You call this fancy?”

“Well. Cool. Cooler than my Spider-Man sweatpants.”

“I didn’t even say anything about Spider-Man.”

“You wanted to, though.” Ashton points the Lion! Bar at Luke accusingly.

Luke laughs, hands lifted in surrender. “You’re right, I did. I’m sorry. Don’t assault me with chocolate, please.”

“I won’t, but only because I need this for my dinner.”

“Weren’t you listening to me? We’re going out.” Luke picks up one of Ashton’s pillows and hugs it to his chest.

“How do you know I don’t have other plans?”

“This is where I would normally mention the fact that you’re wearing Spider-Man sweatpants at half six but I’m worried that to do so would result in death by overly-aggressive chocolate.” He holds the pillow up in front of his face, a preemptive defensive maneuver.

Ashton rolls his eyes and swats the pillow out of Luke’s grip. “Harry’s calling tonight.”

“Your friend Harry from Chicago?” Luke asks, interest piqued.

Ashton nods and points at the photo on his laptop wallpaper – it’s a group photo of all the part time staff at Reckless Records, Harry front-and-center with an impish grin. “Yeah. He’ll be off work in a few hours.”

Luke smiles and throws his arms over his head, falling back onto Ashton’s bed. “Great, then we have a few hours to go out!” His T-shirt has ridden up and a strip of exposed skin is on display between the bottom of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans. What. The. Fuck. Ashton doesn’t want to be this way around Luke. He’s trying very hard to only think of him as a friend, but the world seems to be against him.

“You’re not going to give this up, are you?” Truthfully, Ashton doesn’t want him to. He likes feeling wanted, and he is so fucking hungry.

Luke sits up and shakes his head. “Nope.” His eyes catch on the computer screen behind Ashton. “Is that your boyfriend?” he asks suddenly.

And okay, so maybe Ashton selected this particular picture of the Reckless Records staff for his wallpaper because in it, he and Liam are standing next to each other and Liam has his arm slung around Ashton’s shoulders and they’re looking at each other, smiling, instead of looking at the camera. And maybe it looks a little like they are _together_ , even though in actuality Liam was just pointing out that Ashton’s lips were a little blue from the Slurpee he’d just consumed.

“Oh. Um. Not exactly,” Ashton answers uncomfortably. He’s not sure why he’s uncomfortable. It’s sort of embarrassing, he supposes, trying to explain his crush on Liam to Luke. “We almost had a thing, maybe.” They almost kissed. Once. “But then I left. So, no. I guess.”

“But you like him?” Luke’s still studying the photo intently.

Ashton doesn’t know what to say. Liking two boys at the same time is hard. “Yes?” It comes out as a question, but he doesn’t try to clarify further.

Luke’s face is unreadable, and he’s oddly quiet for a moment, then “Denouement is a French word.”

“Huh?”

“Your playlist. Denouement _is_ a French word. But you probably know that if you’re using it as a playlist title.”

“There’s just a song on the playlist called _Denouement_. I honestly had no idea whether it was or not.”

Luke’s eyes light up. “It’s actually a really cool word,” he says, words tumbling quickly out of his mouth. Ashton loves it when Luke gets like this, excited about something vaguely nerdy. He frequently gets into spirited arguments with Michael about random pop culture nonsense at the lunch table and watching it gives Ashton a little thrill. Lunch and a show. “Denouement is like…the beginning of a resolution. Or like –” Luke’s trying to talk with his hands, fingers wiggling and hands intertwining. “—when the different parts of a story all start to come together and make sense.”

“Oh!” Ashton brightens, leaning forward in his chair. “Like the episode at the end of every season of _Stranger Things_ where all the characters have different bits of information and they finally meet up and understand the big picture.”

“Exactly!” Luke’s doing that tongue thing again, the giant grin with his tongue poking slightly between his teeth, and Ashton just can’t deal with it. He grabs the pillow off Luke’s lap and whaps him in the face with it.

“Hey!” Luke’s hands wrap around Ashton’s wrists, holding his arms down so he can’t make a repeat attack. “What did I do to deserve that?”

Ashton shrugs. “Just my automatic reaction to learning French I guess.” Luke giggles and releases Ashton’s hands so he can fuss with his hair, which is mussed and staticky from the pillow.

Ashton’s watching this all with great interest when his phone rings, and he grins when he sees Liam’s name on the display. He answers quickly. “Hello?” His voice is embarrassingly loud and enthusiastic.

“Ash! How are things in Par-ee?” Liam’s kind of cheesy, but in an endearing way. Usually.

“Certainly nowhere near as exciting as whatever’s happening at Reckless Records.” Luke has stopped trying to tame his hair and is watching Ashton curiously. “Liam,” he mouths, and Luke nods in understanding.

“You’re right about that,” Liam replies. “Did Harry tell you he’s joining the band?”

“No! I’m supposed to talk to him later tonight, but last I heard he was still deciding.”

“I guess we won him over. We have our first practice tomorrow.”

“That’s amazing! He’s going to be great.” Ashton glances at Luke, who is shifting impatiently at the edge of Ashton’s bed. He’s picking at his fingernails, which are covered in chipped purple polish. Somehow Luke’s fingernails are always covered in chipped nail polish. Never fresh, never bare. Always somewhere in between. Ashton has already spent an excessive amount of time pondering the science behind this phenomenon.

Liam’s voice pulls Ashton out of his internal analysis of Luke’s fingernails. “We’ve got some gigs lined up in December. Maybe you’ll be able to make one when you’re home for the holidays.”

“Definitely,” Ashton says, shaking his head at Luke, who’s now not-so-subtly checking the time on his phone. “Hey, Liam, I’m so glad you called, but I was actually just headed out to dinner.”

“No worries, Ash. I’ll email you soon. Tell Harry hello when you talk to him.”

“I will. Bye Liam!” Ashton hangs up and frowns at Luke. “Why are you suddenly in such a hurry?”

“Sorry, just getting hungry,” Luke says. His voice is distant and he won’t meet Ashton’s eyes. “I can go by myself if you don’t want to go out.”

“No, I want to go.” It’s not like Ashton was really looking forward to his Lion! Bar dinner, and he’ll take any excuse to stare at Luke for a bit.

Luke finally looks him in the eye, a small close-lipped smile on his face. “Really?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute to change.”

Luke hops off the bed, energized. “Cool. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

***

“So where are we headed?” Ashton stuffs his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing his favorite outfit, the jeans that hug his thighs just right and the short sleeve button down Harry found for him at the secondhand store in Bucktown that makes his eyes look extra green. He tells himself it’s not for Luke. He just wants to look his best for his first adventure off campus in Paris. Parisians are notoriously fashionable, right? He doesn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb, especially next to Luke, who somehow always manages to look perfectly put together.

“First, we’re getting something to eat,” Luke counts off on his fingers. “Then I’m going to show you my favorite record store in the Latin Quarter,” he smiles when he sees Ashton perk up at his words. “And finally, on the way back we’re going to stop at the best café near campus and I’m going to teach you how to order coffee. I know you’ve been going crazy without it.”

“My hero!” Ashton swoons dramatically and Luke chuckles, leading them out the front door of the dorms. So what if Ashton ogles his ass a little. With his long legs it’s basically eye level, is Ashton supposed to _not_ look at it? Just because he appreciates a nice bum doesn’t mean he wants to be more than friends with Luke. Calum has a pretty nice ass too, he thinks, and he doesn’t want to date Calum. He smiles to himself, pleased that this particular line of rationalization seems to be working in his favor.

It doesn’t take long for Ashton to start feeling a little overwhelmed by all the unfamiliar people and places once they step off campus. The street is heavy with traffic, a symphony of horns blaring and the rattle of scooter motors. The air smells like cigarette smoke. Everyone around him is walking with purpose, and Ashton has no idea what he’s doing. Luke notices Ashton’s discomfort, and confidently leads them down the crowded, winding streets while he tries to distract Ashton. He tells Ashton about his family back in Australia, his parents and his older brothers and his dog; and about how he spends most of his free time songwriting, even though he doesn’t think he’s very good.

“Do you ever play the songs you write?” Ashton asks, grabbing the back of Luke’s shirt loosely as they cross the street so he doesn’t get lost in the shuffle of the crowd.

Luke glances back at him and waits for him to catch up once they reach the other side. “Not really. I’ve played a couple for my mum but usually I keep them to myself.”

“You’re really close to your mom, huh?”

“She’s my favorite person.”

“She must be pretty great if she gets that distinction.”

Luke grins and pulls Ashton down an alley that shoots off the main sidewalk. “She is. But don’t be intimidated, Ash. I can have more than one favorite person.”

Ashton wants to mull this comment over in his mind, revel in the implication that perhaps he has made the shortlist of Luke Hemmings’s favorite people, but there’s so much going on around him it’s hard to focus. They’re standing next to a Parisian McDonald’s, but it looks nothing like an American McDonald’s, tucked in the corner of an ornate old building with ivy climbing up the wall.

All the buildings in Paris are beautiful. It feels fake, like Ashton’s wandering around inside a snow globe. People are darting around them, some talking animatedly, others busying their mouths with big bites of giant baguettes. _So many_ people eating giant baguettes. “Wait, do French people actually just wander around eating baguettes?” Ashton ponders. “I thought that was just a cliché.”

“They’re actually sandwiches,” Luke replies, rolling his eyes. “But yes, they do.” He offers Ashton a commiserating smile. “We’re getting crepes, though,” he says, nodding toward a small booth further down the alley, adorned with a striped awning and giant Coca-Cola signs. It looks a little dodgy, just sitting in the middle of the alley, but there’s a long line of people waiting, so Ashton figures Luke knows what he’s doing.

They join the back of the line and Ashton stands on his toes and cranes his head over the crowd, watching the man at the booth deftly maneuvering ladles full of batter onto large round griddles while he simultaneously barks at people for their orders. It’s mesmerizing, somehow both relaxing and invigorating at the same time, and Ashton’s eyes are wide and impressed. Luke chuckles at him, and Ashton considers giving him a dirty look, but he’s too mesmerized watching the crepe man to care if Luke’s making fun of him.

As they near the front of the line, Luke translates the menu for Ashton and places their order, then they’re shuffled off to the side to wait for their crepes. Luke elbows Ashton in the side. “See, Paris isn’t so scary.”

“I don’t know,” Ashton says, “The crepe man seemed ready to put out a hit on anyone who wasn’t ready to order the second they got to the front of the line.”

“He’s earned the right,” Luke says, and Ashton finds that he actually kind of agrees, so he just nods his head appreciatively as Luke picks up their food and tugs them over to a recently-vacated table alongside the fancy McDonald’s.

Ashton studies his crepe – it’s rolled into a funnel shape and wrapped so he can hold it while he eats. He takes a bite, and it’s rich and eggy but also oozing with cheese and enhanced with seasoning, savory and sweet at the same time. Luke watches him chew, waiting for the verdict. Ashton’s struggling to find the words to describe it, though. “It’s like…an IHOP pancake sandwich,” he says thoughtfully.

Luke bursts into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. His hair whips in and out of his eyes hypnotically. “Seriously? IHOP?”

Ashton blushes, but he holds firm. “Yes! I mean, it’s _better_ than an IHOP pancake sandwich, obviously, but that’s the _vibe_. It’s like –” he holds up his crepe “—this is Chris Hemsworth, and an IHOP pancake sandwich is…one of the other Hemsworths.”

Luke regards Ashton for a moment, impressed, before biting into his own crepe. “Touché,” he says. “That’s another French word, Ash,” he adds with a smirk.

“I’m familiar with that one,” Ashton says, rolling his eyes. “You’re lucky I don’t have a pillow.”

***

“I didn’t realize the name was literal.” Ashton looks up at the ceiling of the record store, where his eyes land on the belly of a large fake (he hopes – he really can’t be sure) crocodile. Luke has taken him to CROCODISC, a record store a few blocks from school with bright gold walls that make Luke’s blue eyes pop and, apparently, with crocodiles suspended from the ceiling. “I thought Paris was supposed to be cool. This place is way more kitschy than Reckless Records.”

“Interesting that your stereotypes of Paris may not be one hundred percent accurate.” Luke’s shoulders are hunched, a vain attempt at trying to take up less space inside the small, crowded shop. His eyes are scanning the rows of discs stuffed neatly into floor-to-ceiling shelves along the wall. Ashton’s next to him but facing the other direction, flipping through the rack of records in the middle of the store and savoring the familiar musty scent that wafts into his nose with each flip. It reminds him of home.

Crocodiles aside, Ashton has felt calmer and more peaceful in the ten minutes he’s been inside CROCODISC than his entire time in Paris so far. It’s familiar and comforting and Ashton feels like he might explode with gratitude toward Luke for showing him this place. His arms are already full of records he’s eager to take back to his dorm, since he left most of his collection in Chicago and he’s already getting tired of listening to the same three albums over and over again. Luke notices he’s struggling to hold them all, so he slides a few albums out from under Ashton’s arm and hugs them to his chest while he waits for Ashton to finish browsing. Ashton smiles gratefully and returns to pawing through the Rs.

“Ooh!” Luke exclaims. “The Replacements!”

Ashton pulls out the album and examines it. The cover is familiar – it’s something they carry at Reckless Records – but he’s never listened to it, and he says as much to Luke. Luke plucks the album from Ashton’s hand. “I’m getting it for you. You need it for your life. Trust me.” Ashton tries to protest, but Luke’s already scurrying toward the register at the front of the store.

When they finally leave CROCODISC, it’s dark outside and Ashton’s breath catches as he looks around, taking in the view of the Paris city lights at night. It really is beautiful. With his shopping bag full of records, the lovely view, and Luke next to him, Ashton is just so happy. He knows he hasn’t felt this happy since he moved to Paris, and he’s honestly struggling to remember the last time he was this happy in Chicago.

They walk back toward campus, Luke telling Ashton all about the other interesting things in the neighborhood. “That’s the Cluny,” he says, pointing across the street at an extremely medieval-looking structure. In the dark it casts creepy shadows and looks like it is almost definitely haunted. “It’s a really cool museum. And the Pantheon is just back there.” Luke sticks his thumb out to point back over his shoulder. Ashton is unclear on why Luke assumes he knows what a pantheon is. “Oh, and we have to go to Shakespeare and Company! It’s a bookstore where everything is in English.”

“Really?” Ashton wouldn’t necessarily consider himself a bookworm, but the idea of _anything_ in English is appealing to him at the moment. “Do we have time to go now?” he asks.

Luke chuckles at his enthusiasm. “Not if you want to get coffee before Harry calls.” Ashton sticks his bottom lip out in a pout and Luke pats him on the arm. “Don’t worry, we have plenty of time to do it all.”

They step into a bustling café that’s 200 feet away from their dorm, and Ashton feels like an absolute idiot that he needed Luke to literally hold his hand and step him through the process of locating the café and ordering a café au lait to go. Luke hands him his drink and raises his eyebrows. “Welcome to Paris, Ash. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I think I might be glad I’m here too.”

Luke grins and tugs on Ashton’s hand. “C’mon. Normally we’d sit and stay for a while, but you probably want some quiet for your chat with Harry.” They exit through the crowded patio, temporarily engulfed in a cloud of cigarette smoke before they emerge on the sidewalk outside their dorm.

Luke skids to a halt and drops Ashton’s hand quickly. Someone is coming down the steps from the main entrance of the dorm. “Zayn?” Luke calls tentatively. “I thought you were busy tonight.”

The guy – Zayn – jogs down the steps and pulls Luke into a hug. “I know. I got bored at Ellie’s party and thought I’d come say hello. I tried to call first but you didn’t answer.” He kisses Luke, and Ashton awkwardly staggers backward, suddenly feeling like a voyeur intruding on a private moment. But Luke doesn’t let him get far, grabbing onto Ashton’s wrist.

“Zayn, this is Ashton.” Luke’s voice is calm but his head is whipping back and forth between Zayn and Ashton, unsettled.

“Ashton from Chicago!” Zayn says brightly, turning to inspect Ashton more closely. And of course Zayn is beautiful, because Luke is beautiful. Beautiful people attract other beautiful people. But Zayn is a different kind of beautiful than Luke. Where Luke shines like the sun, Zayn shimmers like the moon. He’s objectively attractive, with sharp cheekbones and shining amber eyes, but it’s a distant, untouchable kind of attractive. Ashton feels a little like he’s looking at an alien. But Zayn seems nice enough, and apparently knows who Ashton is, which is an interesting revelation.

“Um, yeah. Hi. Luke’s just been showing me around the neighborhood. I haven’t really been off campus since I got here last week.” Ashton gives Zayn his friendliest smile.

“Fun. What’d you guys do?” Zayn doesn’t seem at all bothered that Ashton just spent several hours traipsing around the city with his boyfriend, and he listens as Luke recounts their evening activities. Ashton stands awkwardly nearby, glad to have his café au lait to occupy himself with.

When there’s a break in the conversation, Ashton jumps in. “I should probably get inside. Harry will be calling any time.”

Luke looks at him, seems to be trying to tell him something with his eyes, but Ashton isn’t sure what. “We should get going anyway, right babe?” Zayn grabs Luke’s hand. “It was nice to meet you, Ashton.”

“Nice to meet you too. Bye!” Ashton glances at Luke as he starts up the stairs to the dorm. Luke’s eyes are still full of _something_ , but he doesn’t say anything, just lets Zayn pull him down the street toward the Metro as he looks helplessly over his shoulder at Ashton.

***

Meeting Zayn was the eye-opener Ashton needed to once again remind him to keep it in his pants around Luke. Plus, the more time Ashton spends at school, the more he realizes Michael was right – everyone _is_ obsessed with Luke, and although it’s probably partially because he’s stunning and naturally charismatic, it’s largely because Luke is just that nice. He’s nice to everyone, and genuinely friendly with almost everyone, regardless of their popularity or what grade they’re in. The number of freshmen who stare at him with heart eyes when he passes them in the hall is staggering.

But Ashton has noticed that despite being friendly with everyone, Luke has been spending most of his time with _him_ lately. Ashton thinks it’s probably because Michael, ostensibly Luke’s best friend, has recently had a lot of trouble with his grades and is usually too busy trying to dig himself out of his 1.5 GPA to give Luke the time of day.

Still, Ashton thinks he’s done a pretty good job of keeping things with Luke friendly. Maybe Ashton has thought about Luke in a not-so-friendly way when he’s alone in his bed at night. But that’s probably fine. Normal teenage boy stuff, right? He’s well-behaved when it matters. When Luke helps him with his French homework, he brings Calum along as a buffer to keep him in check (Calum’s better at French than Luke anyway). And every few days, Luke will disappear for the night, off to see Zayn, and Ashton is once again reminded that Luke is not his to covet.

Not that Ashton doesn’t feel a little jealous every time he imagines Luke spending his evenings with Zayn. Sometimes at breakfast the next morning Luke’s wearing the same clothes he was the day before, and Ashton’s mind races imagining the implications.

Ashton decides that he’s going to make some weekend plans of his own to keep his mind off Luke and Zayn, and he finds a nearby movie theater that’s showing _Rebel Without a Cause_ in English. Ashton _loves_ that movie, and he has the red jacket to prove it.

“Hey, Calum.” Ashton pokes Calum on the shoulder with his pencil. They’re in history class and they’re supposed to be studying for the midterm, but Calum’s just doodling in the margins of his notebook.

“Hmm?”

“Come with me to the movies tonight.”

“What movie?”

“ _Rebel Without a Cause_. At Le Champo.”

Calum groans. “An old movie?” He scrunches his face in disgust. “I dunno Ash. I have a lot of studying to do.”

“Maybe if you studied now instead of doodling you’d have time to go to the movies,” Luke pipes in from across the aisle.

“Shut up,” Calum says, but he’s smiling, always pleased to be the subject of Luke’s friendly ribbing. He’s got it pretty bad. Ashton can relate.

“Please, Cal?” Ashton blinks sweetly at Calum, ignoring Luke scoffing next to him.

“Old movies are lame.”

“How do you know if you haven’t seen it?” Luke asks.

“Why don’t you go with him, then?” Calum shoots back. “You do everything together anyway.”

Yikes. Ashton tries to do damage control. “He’s got plans with Zayn.”

“What makes you so sure I have plans with Zayn?”

Ashton ignores Luke. “C’mon, Cal, I want _you_ to come. Please? Michael can come too. It’ll be fun!”

Calum finally relents. “Fine. But that means you need to shut up now so I can actually get some studying done.”

Ashton snaps his mouth closed and gives Calum a grateful thumbs up.

***

Ashton stares out the window of the dorm lobby, watching the colorful autumn leaves whip around the sidewalk. He’s so taken by it he almost doesn’t notice when Calum and Michael sidle up next to him. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Calum says dreamily.

“Yeah.” Ashton nods. “Getting cold though.”

“Shouldn’t you be used to the cold, Mr. Chicago?” Michael teases.

Ashton hums in agreement. “It probably gets colder in Chicago than it does here,” he muses.

“It definitely does.”

Luke’s voice startles all of them, but it’s Ashton’s ear he’s speaking into. They all spin around, discombobulated. “What are you doing here?” Michael asks.

“ _Rebel Without a Cause_ , right?” Luke’s wearing a leather jacket over his usual jeans and T-shirt and Ashton thinks he feels actual drool forming in his mouth. He wipes surreptitiously at the corner of his mouth just to be on the safe side.

“I thought you had plans with Zayn.” Calum reaches out to zip Luke’s jacket, like his hands have a mind of their own. Ashton only wishes he’d thought to do it first.

“I never said that. _Ashton_ said that.” Luke looks pointedly at Ashton. Ashton gives him his cutest smile, the one he always uses to get out of trouble when his mom is mad at him. Luke shakes his head at him, apparently unmoved by Ashton’s dimples. “I want to go to the movie.”

“What’s Zayn doing that he can’t come too?” Michael asks.

Luke shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise. Michael looks hurt. “I don’t understand why he doesn’t want to hang out with us anymore,” he whines.

Ashton’s still not totally clear on the dynamics here, but he’s picked up on the fact that at some point, Zayn was Michael’s best friend, but since graduating and going to Parson’s, Luke’s the only one that Zayn actually hangs out with. In fact, Ashton’s seen Zayn more recently than Michael or Calum, and even if it was a fluke, Michael was obviously hurt when he heard about it.

“It’s not like that,” Luke says, putting an arm around Michael. “He’s just…busy.”

Michael shrugs. “Whatever. I’m over it.” He clearly isn’t. “Are we going to this movie or not?”

They walk the few short blocks to the theater, invigorated by the chilly breeze in the air. Luke stomps through a pile of leaves, boots loud on the pavement, and giggles in delight at the crunch beneath his feet. His hair is blowing in the breeze and his nose and the tips of his ears are pink from the cold. Ashton’s never been more captivated by anything in his life. He wants to bury his hands in Luke’s hair and kiss his pink nose.

Fuck. No. No, he does _not_ want to do those things. Well. Obviously, he does. But he can’t. And daydreaming about it isn’t going to change that. He tears his eyes away from Luke, focusing instead on the neon sign for Le Champo in the distance.

Inside the theater, Ashton is delighted to discover yet another familiar smell – movie theater popcorn. It’s not quite as comforting as the record store, but it’s close, and Ashton can’t keep the smile off his face as they push through the swinging doors into the theater and he takes in the rows of red cushioned seats and neon lit aisles.

“Happy?” Luke asks, smiling back at Ashton in the dim light.

“Very,” Ashton replies, turning down a row of seats near the middle of the theater. Luke follows him, dragging Calum and Michael behind him.

As the opening credits start rolling, an excited shiver works its way up Ashton’s spine. He’s proud that he’s finally starting to figure out how to exist in Paris. Luke encouraging him to get out of the dorms and helping him make his way around a city that speaks a different language has really helped Ashton focus on the opportunities surrounding him instead of what he left back home in Chicago.

Unfortunately, Luke sitting next to him in the theater is having the _opposite_ effect on Ashton’s ability to focus on the movie. He’s too busy being distracted every time Luke’s arm brushes up against his, too absorbed in trying to read Luke’s reactions to the movie out of the corner of his eye. It’s not that it’s exactly unusual for Ashton to be this close to Luke, but being this close to him for so long, in the dark, with nothing to keep his mind from fixating on Luke’s proximity…it’s unnerving.

Luke shifts in his seat and his thigh is _so close_ to Ashton’s, a centimeter to the left and they would be pressed against each other hip to knee. But they’re not touching at all, and Ashton can barely stand it. He’s crawling out of his skin with want. He wants so badly to touch Luke. He wants to feel the warmth of Luke’s chest pressed against his own. He wants to tousle his golden hair, run his thumbs over the freckles on the tops of Luke’s cheeks. He wants to kiss the corner of his mouth and trace patterns on the back of his hand. But Ashton can’t do any of these things. So he just sits, still and alert, staring straight ahead at the screen without actually seeing anything.

The strange thing is, Ashton gets the feeling that Luke’s paying as much attention to him as he is to Luke. Every time Ashton risks a glance over at him, he catches Luke’s eyes quickly darting back to the screen. Every time Ashton shifts in his seat, Luke tenses slightly next to him. It makes Ashton aware of every move he makes, every breath he takes.

Eventually, Luke leans his head toward Ashton to whisper in his ear. “I really like the movie,” he says, a small smile on his lips, eyes boring into Ashton’s in the dark. His hair tickles Ashton’s cheek as he shifts back into his seat, and Ashton holds his breath, returns Luke’s smile, then exhales shakily. He’s sure Luke can hear the tremors in his breath and it makes him blush. Luke is still looking at him. Luke swallows – Ashton watches his adam’s apple shift in his throat, unable to meet his eyes – then turns his head back to the screen.

What. The. Fuck.

***

How is it possible that every email Ashton’s dad sends him is worse than the last? He groans as he reads the latest update, which informs him that his parents will _not_ be getting him a flight home for Thanksgiving. His dad can somehow afford to send him to private boarding school in Paris, but thinks having Ashton come home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas is too extravagant. Whatever. At least now Ashton can order a coffee on his own, so he can stay caffeinated while he spends a lonely Thanksgiving in the dorms.

Ashton’s camped out in the dorm lobby with Calum and Michael – the other boys are studying, and Ashton had been writing up emails for Harry and Liam when the nastygram from his father appeared in his inbox. “Bad news from the land of deep dish pizza?” Michael asks, peering over Ashton’s shoulder.

“Apparently I’m not going home for Thanksgiving.” Ashton sighs and closes his laptop.

“Bummer,” Michael says. “I know you were looking forward to seeing Harry.”

“And Liam!” Calum interjects. “I was looking forward to getting some good Liam updates.” Ashton has been talking Calum’s ear off about Liam lately - it helps him convince himself that he doesn’t have a massive crush on Luke. As an added bonus, it’s also soothed Calum’s jealousy over how close Ashton and Luke have become lately.

Since the night at the movies, Ashton has successfully convinced himself that he was reading _way too much_ into what happened between him and Luke in the theater. Which was nothing. They sat next to each other. Luke said he liked the movie. End of story. Ashton’s just missing Liam; that’s all it is. He’s missing Liam and he’s using Luke as a stand-in for those feelings.

“I probably wouldn’t have had a chance to see him anyway,” Ashton rationalizes. “It just sucks that I’m going to be here alone for Thanksgiving.”

Calum puts an arm around him, squeezes his shoulders reassuringly. “Sorry, Ash. I’ll bring you back some good candy.”

Ashton smiles at him gratefully, but then he’s distracted when he sees Luke coming through the door. Thankfully Calum is also easily distracted by Luke, and they’re both watching him with adoration in their eyes as he strides over to the table. It’s disgusting, really. “Well if it isn’t my favorite people!” Luke splays himself across all their backs, attempting to hug all three of them at once. Calum squeals, Michael groans, and Ashton stays perfectly still and quiet.

Luke releases them and perches on the table between Ashton and Michael. “Nice of you to finally join us,” Michael says.

“Sorry. I stopped to buy some guitar strings on the way home.”

“It’s fine. You didn’t miss much,” Michael says.

“That’s not true!” Calum exclaims. “He missed Ashton’s Thanksgiving tragedy.”

Luke’s face drops and his eyes shift quickly to Ashton, slightly panicked.

Ashton smiles and rolls his eyes, watching Luke relax in response. “It’s not a big deal. My dad just told me I’m going to have to stay here for Thanksgiving, so I was being dramatic about spending Thanksgiving alone.”

“Oh.” Luke looks conflicted. “Actually, I’m staying here for Thanksgiving too.”

“Since when?” Michael asks.

“Since always.” Luke’s eyes keep flicking back to Ashton. “I’ve never gone home for Thanksgiving break. It’s too far for just a few days, plus Thanksgiving in Australia is at the beginning of November anyway.”

“How did we not know this?” Calum is beside himself, like it’s somehow a personal failure that he isn’t aware of every facet of Luke’s life.

Luke shrugs. “Never came up?”

“So you’ve spent the past three Thanksgivings alone in the school dorms?” Calum asks.

“Yup. It’s not so bad. The quiet can be nice, and when I get tired of that I play my records as loud as I want.”

Ashton watches Luke carefully, trying to deduce how Luke is feeling about Ashton also staying in Paris for Thanksgiving. Is he annoyed that he won’t get to have his usual alone time? Is he pleased at the prospect of company? Ashton can’t tell, and he’s afraid to say anything before he can get a beat on Luke’s feelings about the whole thing.

Calum comes to the rescue, as usual. “But this year Ash will be here too! You guys can do Thanksgiving together!”

Luke offers Ashton a shy grin. “I suppose we could. If you’re up for it, Ash.”

“He’s no Liam but he’s better than nothing, right?” Calum adds.

Luke looks offended. “Liam’s the record store guy?” he asks. (Luke knows exactly who Liam is; Ashton is sure of it.)

“Yeah.” Ashton busies himself with sliding his laptop into his backpack.

“You still like him?” Luke’s tone is strangely earnest, not the usual teasing lilt.

And fuck this. What is Ashton supposed to say? _He_ doesn’t even know how he feels these days, not really. But he must still like Liam, right? Because that’s the only way anything makes sense. “How I feel doesn’t really matter. I’m…interested if he is, I guess.” When he looks up from his bag, Luke has slid off the table and is standing right in front of him.

“Does he still call you? And email?” Is it Ashton’s imagination or is Luke edging closer to him with every word?

“Yes.” Not very often, if Ashton’s being honest, and their conversations are getting shorter and shorter and more and more distant. Like an obligation. But it’s probably just because Liam is so busy with the band. Harry’s been a bit distant lately too, and it’s because he’s always running off to band practice.

Luke looks solemn. It makes Ashton uncomfortable, because he’s not used to it. Luke almost always has a smile – if not on his lips, in his eyes. “Well there you go,” Luke says. “He’s interested. Just hang in there until Christmas.” Finally, he does smile, but it’s tight and forced.

Ashton chews the inside of his cheek. “I guess,” he says out the side of his mouth. He can feel Calum and Michael watching them and he _needs_ to get them back on normal, stable ground. He forces a smile. “In the meantime, you can finally take me to Shakespeare and Company over break.”

Ah, and there’s a genuine grin from Luke. The tension melts out of Ashton’s body at the sight of it. “That’s a great plan. Oh, you know what we should do –” Luke bounces on his heels, tapping Ashton’s arm excitedly (chipped black nail polish today, Ashton notices) “-- we should do all the touristy stuff in the neighborhood that you haven’t seen yet, like the Pantheon and the Cluny!”

He’s so cute when he’s excited, and the lift in his mood is contagious. Ashton grins back at him. “Yes, we definitely should. Maybe we can find some pumpkin pie somewhere.”

“We’ll find you some pumpkin pie, Ash. For sure.” He says it with such confidence, like there’s no possible way they’ll fail. Luke does this sometimes, and Ashton wants to be annoyed by it. He wants to reality check him; remind him that things don’t always magically work out how you want them to. But he never does, because there’s something reassuring about Luke’s optimism. Ashton _believes_ him, and so far, Luke has always found a way to follow through on his declarations, so who is Ashton to question him?

***

Later that night, Ashton is sprawled on his stomach on the floor of Calum’s room, trying to focus on learning verb conjugation in French. It’s hard, because, well, _French_ , but also because Calum seems distracted. He’s sighing a lot, looking at his phone every 30 seconds, trailing off in the middle of his explanations. Finally, Ashton can’t take it anymore.

“Something wrong, Cal?”

“Not exactly.” Calum’s playing coy, but the guiltily excited look in his eyes tells Ashton he’s about to get some gossip.

Intrigued, Ashton rolls onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. “Calum Hood. You look like you have some important information you need to share with the class.”

“I shouldn’t say anything, but I guess you’ll find out eventually anyway.” Ashton wants to grab Calum and shake him. He’s intentionally dragging this out, savoring the power that comes with having juicy information before someone else. “Things…aren’t good with Luke and Zayn.”

“How so?” _Stay calm, Ash._

Calum slides his pencil behind his ear. “They’re fighting a lot.”

“What about?” It’s taking everything in Ashton to keep his face neutral and his body still.

“I’m not really sure, but I think it’s just Zayn. He’s different now that he’s in college. Too good for us.”

“Hmm. I only met him the one time but he seemed nice enough.”

Calum sighs. “That’s the problem though. They’re having these issues but Zayn’s not doing anything that’s, like, breakup-worthy. Luke’s so loyal. He’ll keep trying as long as Zayn keeps being nice, even if he’s not happy.”

Ashton ponders this, and is annoyed that it kind of makes sense. Luke _is_ loyal, and a pleaser. “You think he’s not happy?” Ashton asks.

“I don’t know. But it’s definitely messing with him.” Calum checks his phone again. “He’s out getting wasted with Michael right now for the sole purpose of taking his mind off of it.”

“He is?” Ashton frowns. Why is he the only one who is out of the loop on this? He and Luke spend more time together these days than Luke spends with Michael or Calum.

Calum nods. “Michael’s been texting me. I guess Luke is really fucking drunk.”

Well. There’s no way Ashton’s going to be able to focus on French _now._ He closes his textbook and sits up. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Michael’s keeping an eye on him and making sure he doesn’t go too overboard. It just makes me worry how bad things will get before he’ll finally break up with Zayn. _If_ he’ll finally break up with Zayn.”

Ashton nods, trying to process all this new information. He and Luke don’t really talk about Zayn much, and Ashton had just assumed everything was fine with them. The revelation that they’re having problems is making Ashton feel a hundred different things at once. Excitement. Shame and guilt that he’s such a terrible person he’s actually _excited_ by his friend’s relationship being on the rocks. Concern for Luke. Curiosity - an intense need to understand why Luke and Zayn are having issues. Hope. Could it be…could it be that _Ashton_ has something to do with this? He doesn’t let his brain wander too far down that path.

Ashton and Calum decide there’s no point in studying since they’re obviously not making any progress, so Ashton heads back to his room and tries calling Harry. No answer. It shouldn’t bother Ashton – it’s only late afternoon in Chicago; Harry’s probably busy with band practice or something – but it does. He hates feeling disconnected from Harry. It’s one of his biggest worries about moving to Paris coming true.

He changes into sweats and puts on The Replacements record Luke gave him. He’s been listening to it a lot lately, especially _Skyway_. The melancholy longing of it all is just so beautiful, and Ashton thinks it suits Paris in the fall. He’s curled up on his bed, just listening, when there is an abrupt and extremely loud THUMP on his door, followed by an “Ouch!,” followed by “Lemmein Ash. Michael’s bein’ so MEAN.”

The moment Ashton opens his door, Luke’s arms are around him. Ashton’s not sure if it’s a gesture of affection or if Luke just really needs something to lean on in order to stay upright.

“Sorry about him.” Michael’s hovering in the hallway like a vampire waiting to be invited in. “He wouldn’t shut up about needing to see you.”

Luke pulls back, hands heavy on Ashton’s shoulders, eyes wide and serious. “I’m drunk.” Then he giggles, and Ashton can’t help but laugh along with him.

“Yes, you are.” Ashton tentatively places his hands on Luke’s waist and maneuvers him around until he’s seated on the bed. “You should probably sit.” Luke stares up at him with adoring eyes and a smile frozen on his face. Ashton shakes his head. Luke’s just drunk.

“Would you hate me if I left him with you?” Michael’s progressed to leaning on the doorframe. Still not putting so much as a toe over the threshold though. Ashton wouldn’t be surprised if he _were_ a vampire. He’s awfully pale. “I have a lot of homework. He can probably make it back to his room from here without killing himself.”

Ashton looks back at Luke, who gives him two thumbs up, still all smiles. “It’s no problem, Mike. I can take it from here.”

Michael looks relieved. “Thanks, dude. I owe you one.”

And then Ashton’s door is closed and he’s alone with a very drunk Luke. He must admit this is preferable to studying French with Calum.

“I love this song,” Luke says, swaying in time to _Skyway_.

“Me too.” Ashton sits down next to Luke. “And I only know it because of you. So thanks for that.”

Luke’s staring off into the distance, eyes unfocused. “I’m really glad you love it too, Ash.” His words are slurred, voice quieter. Like stopping to sit down flipped a switch in him, and now he’s on the comedown.

Ashton doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to make it weird, but he has to. “Is there, um, a reason you wanted to stop by?”

Luke frowns, forehead wrinkling. “Do I need a reason to want to see my best mate?”

“No, I uh—” Ashton stammers, “—Michael made it sound like there was something specific you wanted.”

Luke flops sideways, head landing in Ashton’s lap. Ashton’s hands fly into the air like they’ll get burnt if he so much as touches Luke. Maybe they will. In his drunken state, Luke doesn’t seem to register the oddity of Ashton’s response, just shifts his head around on Ashton’s thighs until he’s comfortable and tucks his hands in under his chin. Ashton lets his own hands fall on the bed beside him, still afraid to touch Luke. It will only make this harder.

“Hmph. Sleepy.” And sure enough, Luke’s eyes are drooping.

“Do you want me to take you back to your room?” Ashton asks.

“Not yet. Can I stay with you for a bit?”

“Of course. Always.”

Luke smiles; Ashton can feel it on his thigh and he closes his eyes, trying to compose himself. “Will you play with my hair?” Luke’s voice is soft, so soft. This must be some sort of test, and Ashton is going to fail miserably.

He doesn’t answer, but he gently places a hand on Luke’s head, lets his fingers twist and wind through Luke’s curls. His hair is soft, and it smells like the sun.

Luke lets out a contented sigh. “You know I like you, right?”

Ashton’s breath catches and his entire body tenses. Luke probably just means – “Not as a friend. Like I _like_ you.”

He’s drunk. He doesn’t really mean it. Hell, he probably thinks he’s talking to Zayn. “You mean…you like Zayn?”

“No. You.” Luke’s voice is adamant, and his hand moves to grasp Ashton’s knee tightly. “Things are all messed up with Zayn because I like you.”

Ashton is panicking. Does Luke even know what he’s saying? How is Ashton supposed to respond? He wants to ask Luke why he won’t just break up with Zayn, but Luke’s drunk and it just…wouldn’t be right. He can’t encourage this. Luke is with Zayn, Ashton likes _Liam_ , for fuck’s sake. Why does he keep forgetting that?

Calum saves Ashton, like he always does. Before Ashton can respond to Luke, Calum knocks on the door and pops his head in. His eyes are suspicious when they land on Luke’s head in Ashton’s lap. “Oh. Sorry. You forgot your French book.” He sets the textbook on Ashton’s desk chair. “Is he okay?”

“Mmmfine.” Luke grumbles. “Tired.”

“Do you think you could help me get him up to his room, Cal? Michael had homework or something.” Ashton is very pleased with how calm and collected he sounds. _No, Calum, Luke wasn’t just drunkenly confessing he has feelings for me. Nothing to see here._

They each take a side, letting Luke sway back and forth between them as they help him up the stairs to his room. Ashton wishes the circumstances were different. Luke’s leaning on him heavily, face on Ashton’s shoulder, murmuring thank yous into his ear. Every word - deep and raspy - sends shivers down Ashton’s spine.

***

When Ashton goes to breakfast the next morning, he’s grateful that Luke’s not there. “Too hungover,” Michael says with a smirk. Ashton knows they’ll probably have to address whatever happened last night at some point, but he’s happy to delay it as long as possible. And with any luck, Luke won’t even remember. Ashton can pretend it never happened. And really, wouldn’t that be best for both of them? Luke was absolutely wasted. He probably didn’t mean what he said, and they can avoid a whole lot of awkwardness if Ashton just…lets it go.

His respite lasts exactly 24 hours. Monday at breakfast, the dining hall is buzzing. Everyone is excited about the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday and the short week of classes. Luke appears at their usual table, a grin on his face and a navy blue beanie on his head. He hands Ashton a to-go coffee cup from the café across the street and Michael and Calum immediately whine about him not bringing anything for them.

“Sorry guys. I owe Ashton for drunkenly crashing his Saturday night.” Luke sits down next to Ashton and burrows into his hoodie.

“Not fair,” Calum pouts. “I helped him get you up the stairs.”

“You did? I guess I don’t remember much after Michael and I got back to the dorms.”

Ashton tries not to look too eager. “You don’t?”

“Not really. I remember being in your room. I remember _Skyway_. That’s pretty much it.” Luke is studying Ashton’s face closely while he speaks, and Ashton thinks maybe he hears a question in Luke’s words. But he might be imagining it. He’s reading into things because he remembers what happened – that doesn’t mean Luke does.

And in any case, if Luke _does_ remember telling Ashton he likes him, isn’t pretending he doesn’t the clearest possible sign that Luke wishes it had never happened? Going along with it is the kind thing for Ashton to do, right?

“You mostly just tried to steal my bed,” Ashton fibs. “You were really tired.”

Luke smiles. He seems relieved. “Ah, well. You can’t blame a guy for not wanting to make the arduous journey upstairs.”

“You can’t,” Ashton agrees, “Especially when you get a free latte out of it.”

***

Calum and Michael both leave as soon as school lets out on Wednesday to catch their long flights home. After saying goodbye, Ashton and Luke hit up CROCODISC. Ashton tries to practice his French with the guy working the register. He’s always there when Ashton stops by the store (which is often – his Paris record collection is growing rapidly), and he always waves and gives him a welcoming smile, so Ashton isn’t worried the guy’s going to laugh in his face if he mispronounces _si vous plait_ or something.

“Are you sad you’re not going home for Thanksgiving?” Luke’s swinging his CROCODISC bag in one hand and sipping from his third latte of the day with the other. He made them stop at a café on their way back to the dorms, complaining that he needed a hit of caffeine to manage the six-block walk. Ashton isn’t bothered by it – in fact, he finds it kind of charming – but he _is_ kind of bothered that he’s not bothered. Luke gets away with everything.

“How do you even sleep at night?” Ashton asks, eyeing Luke’s cup.

Luke shrugs. “High tolerance. Are you avoiding my question?”

“I’m not sad about it. Maybe I was for a minute, but it’s not that big of a deal.” Is he lying? He’s not sure. He’s had a lot of moments recently where he feels a little homesick. He misses Harry and he misses Liam, but the idea of spending Thanksgiving with Luke soothes his disappointment. He’s not going to say that to Luke, though. “I know you said you never go home for Thanksgiving, but…are you? Sad about it?”

“It was hard the first year,” Luke says. “But now I’m used to it.” He smiles at Ashton, golden hair framed in the glow of the late afternoon sun. “Plus, I get to spend it with you this year. That’s just as good as going home.”

Ashton’s stomach flips. “You say that now, but you’ll be sick of me by Saturday.”

“We’ll see about that.” Luke bumps him with his shoulder. “What do you want to do tomorrow? I was thinking crepes, then the Cluny. And then your pumpkin pie, of course.”

“I’m still skeptical about the pumpkin pie. _Maybe_ we’ll find a pumpkin tart.” Ashton watches their shadows on the pavement in front of them, long and slim in the fading daylight. He likes how they look together.

“We’ll find pie. And if we can’t find it, we’ll make it. You’re getting pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving if it kills us.”

Ashton laughs at the mental image of him and Luke attempting to bake in the tiny dorm kitchenette. “It probably _will_ kill us. We’d burn down the entire dorm.”

“Mmm, but then we could haunt Calum and Michael,” Luke says with a sly grin, wiggling his fingers in what Ashton supposes is an approximation of a creepy ghost.

“Good point,” Ashton says. “You can rearrange Michael’s comic books and I’ll take down all of Calum’s soccer posters.”

“That is the _lamest_ possible way to haunt someone, Ash.”

“No, but that’s why it’s good. They won’t know what’s happening and they’ll just think they’re going crazy.”

Luke scrunches his face thoughtfully, lips pouting and nose wrinkling. It’s one of Ashton’s top five favorite Luke expressions, somewhere on the list between the tongue smile and the lip bite. “You might have a point,” Luke concedes. “Ah, it’s like _Amelie_! When she messes with the mean neighbor.”

Ashton looks at him blankly.

“ _Amelie_? Fuck, Ash, it’s like the _one_ French movie everyone on the planet has seen.” He shakes his head. “We’ll add it to the list of French stuff we need to do.”

And Ashton can’t help it. Every time Luke says _we_ , he feels a little flutter in his chest.

***

It’s after nine when Luke finally wakes up the next day. Ashton, ever a creature of habit, had woken up at 6:30. He tried to keep his mind off his grumbling stomach by firing off texts to Harry, even though he knew Harry wouldn’t see them for hours. He even tried watching some TV, but all it did was remind him how little French he’s learned in the past few months.

Finally, there’s a knock on Ashton’s door, and Luke shuffles into his room, eyes bleary. He’s wearing joggers and a blue sweatshirt and his hair is a beautiful mess. He looks like he literally just woke up. Ashton smiles fondly at the sight of him. “Morning, Ash. Happy Thanksgiving.” His voice is low and rough from disuse, but it’s warm. Everything about Luke in this moment is cozy. He’s a living, breathing cuddle. He sits on the bed next to Ashton and rests his head on Ashton’s shoulder, eyes flitting shut.

“You don’t seem ready for crepes,” Ashton observes.

“Wrong. I’m always ready for crepes.”

“I think you’re drooling on me. That’s not something people who are ready for crepes do.”

“Shut up. Why are you so wound up?”

“Because I’ve been awake for three hours and I’m hungry,” Ashton whines.

“Why the hell did you wake up three hours ago?”

“I can’t help it; I just did. We can’t go back in time and change it. All we can do is get me crepes. Immediately.”

“All right, all right.” Luke lifts his head and rolls out of the bed. “And here I thought we’d have a leisurely morning snuggle.”

Ashton loves it when Luke says stuff like this. Ashton hates it when Luke says stuff like this. Such is life.

He chooses to ignore the snuggle comment. “Crepes can be leisurely.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “Give me twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes? I’m _starving_!”

“You’ve made it this long, I think you can handle twenty more minutes!” Luke calls over his shoulder as he leaves.

It’s only fifteen minutes until he reappears at Ashton’s door, hair still damp from the shower. Ashton frowns at him. “You’re all wet.”

“I was cutting some corners since _someone_ said they were starving.”

“Oh.” Ashton smiles guiltily. “Thanks.”

Luke pulls his beanie over his damp curls and looks at Ashton expectantly. “Well? Shall we get you your crepes?”

***

Ashton munches happily on his crepe, taking big steps to keep up with Luke. Luke’s leading them to the Cluny, and he’s impatient to get inside where it’s warm. Apparently wet hair in 30-degree weather is not entirely pleasant. Ashton feels bad about it, so he’s doing his best to maintain Luke’s quick pace. It is kind of cute, though, if Ashton’s honest. He wonders if Luke would brave below freezing temperatures with a wet head just so Zayn could have crepes five minutes faster. Probably, Ashton thinks. That’s just the kind of person he is.

They duck into the museum and Luke gets them sorted with tickets, then leads them down a dark staircase. This isn’t like any museum Ashton’s ever been in before. It’s not big halls with stark tile floors filled with bright glass cases. Instead, it feels like they’re in a cave. It’s quite dark, the air is damp and cool, and they’re surrounded by crumbling piles of rocks. There _are_ glass cases, though, and Luke takes Ashton up and down the rows of displays, quietly translating the descriptions for him.

Ashton’s overwhelmed with how _old_ everything is. There are artifacts from years with two digits, for fuck’s sake. That’s not something you come across too often in the United States. Luke explains that the museum is built around the ruins of ancient thermal baths, which is why the space is so unusual.

Ashton sometimes forgets that Luke is, like, _much_ smarter than him. He’s not showy about it, but he’s someone who really enjoys learning and making sense of the world. It’s interesting to see this side of Luke; confidently answering Ashton’s questions, pointing out the things he knows Ashton will like best. Ashton can imagine him as a college professor or something, the kind that teaches the sort of class students actually _want_ to attend. Probably also the kind that at least half the class would have a crush on, and who could blame them?

Ashton says as much to Luke as they exit through the museum gift shop, and Luke chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve thought about being a teacher. History or music or something. But I don’t know.” Luke’s clearly on a mission, and Ashton follows him across the busy Boulevard Saint-Germain. “I’d kind of like to have the kind of job where I don’t actually have to talk to people.”

“What kind of job is that? Monk?”

Luke giggles. “Definitely not. Can you imagine? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a trophy husband. Sit at home all day drinking lattes and playing with my dogs.”

“That’s basically what you do now. Calum, Michael and I are just dogs to you, aren’t we?” Ashton pouts, slipping his sunglasses over his eyes. Now that the morning haze has lifted, it’s a bright, beautiful day.

“You should take it as a compliment,” Luke says. “Dogs are better than people. Ah, here we are!” They skid to a halt in front of a small café with crowded picnic tables outside. “I’m going to get us lattes, then we’re going to look at some books in English!”

Luke slips into the tiny café and Ashton looks around to get his bearings, realizing the café is connected to the Shakespeare and Company bookstore. The storefront sits close to the Seine, and Ashton watches boats drift by in the distance while he waits for Luke to emerge. It reminds him of Lake Michigan, and he thinks about home, about Chicago and his mom and Harry and Liam. He’s surprised how small the twinge of homesickness has become. It used to be this all-consuming thing; something Ashton had to work hard to push to the back of his mind. Now it’s almost like he has to dig the homesick feeling out of a deep crevasse in his mind.

Luke’s arms wrap around him from behind and a cup appears in front of Ashton’s face. “It’s a pumpkin spice latte,” Luke says gleefully.

Ashton takes the cup and spins around, eyes wide. “Are you serious? How?”

They’re so close. Luke’s lips, parted in a huge smile, are directly in front of Ashton’s eyes. Ashton could just lift up on his tiptoes, lean forward a little bit…

“The perks of a cafe that caters to English-speakers.” Luke steps back, toward the bookstore, and Ashton starts breathing again.

“You’ve made me a very happy man,” Ashton says, following Luke into…a funhouse of books? It seems small at first, tightly packed with shelves and table displays to the point where it’s difficult to maneuver through the store.

But as they browse, Ashton realizes it’s actually quite a large network of rooms and nooks, going back and up and every which way. There are books _everywhere_ , and it looks cluttered and disorganized. He’s surprised to realize the books are actually arranged logically, separated by genre and alphabetized. And as Luke promised, they are all in English. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Ashton says, running his finger along the spines of the autobiography section. “I feel like Alice in Wonderland or something.”

Luke smirks. “We’re six blocks from the dorm, Ash.”

“That’s what’s so crazy about it, though! This morning we saw some ancient ruins. Now we’re at this insane bookstore. The Pantheon is a few minutes away. All of this amazing stuff is just…right off campus. It’s crazy.”

Luke watches him carefully, nodding. “You’re right,” he agrees, “We’re really lucky.”

***

“I told you we’d find pumpkin pie,” Luke gloats through a mouthful of whipped cream.

“ _You_ found pumpkin pie,” Ashton corrects. “I just followed you around the Latin Quarter complaining the whole time.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

Ashton might be having the best day of his life. Luke found a bakery selling pumpkin pie, and it’s just a few steps from Luxembourg Gardens, a massive, _gorgeous_ park lined with rows of fall-colored trees and ornate statues and manicured beds of seasonal flowers. They got their pie to go and staked out a small table next to the huge fountain in the middle of the park. Now they’re digging in to the center of the pie with plastic forks, not bothering to try to cut slices.

It feels like they’re breaking the rules, eating the most stunning pie Ashton has ever seen before like _this_ , but Ashton wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s a beautiful day in a beautiful park with a beautiful pie. And Luke, shining gold and bright. Ashton’s strangely emotional, and suddenly he _needs_ Luke to know how grateful he is for this amazing day. “Thanks for today, Luke. This might actually be the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.”

Luke smiles and licks whip off his lips. Ashton transcends the mortal coil. “Same. Don’t tell my mum,” he says conspiratorially.

After dropping the remnants of the pie off at the dorm (it looks like a car ran over it but it’s too delicious not to keep the leftovers), Luke takes Ashton across the Seine to a shopping area tucked into a network of tight, winding cobblestone streets. It’s not unlike the McDonald’s – all these stores Ashton’s seen a million times at the malls back home, situated within beautiful old buildings, neon lights flashing in contrast with the delicate building facades.

They’re out shopping because Ashton really needs a coat. He had been hoping to make it through the fall with just his jacket, and had plans to bring his winter coat back with him after the holiday break. But it’s been unseasonably cold in Paris, and he doesn’t think he can make it until Christmas without some more substantial outerwear. Ashton doesn’t even know where to start, so Luke pulls him into Uniqlo and places him in front of a massive wall of down coats, neatly organized by color and style. It’s extremely aesthetically pleasing but also extremely intimidating.

Ashton looks at Luke, chewing his lip and wrinkling his brow. “Help?”

Luke shakes his head, smiling warmly, and pulls a dark green parka off the rack. “Try this,” he says, removing the hanger and holding the coat out to Ashton.

Ashton takes it, holding it in front of him between his fingers like a dirty diaper. “Green? Not black?”

Luke shakes his head. “Definitely the green. It’s almost the same color as my favorite shirt of yours. It will look nice on you, I promise.”

“You have a favorite shirt of mine?” Ashton tugs on the parka and zips it up. It’s warm in the store, and he almost immediately starts sweating once he’s wrapped in a layer of down.

Luke reaches out to adjust the collar of the coat, fingers brushing Ashton’s throat. It tickles his neck pleasantly, and he shivers despite the heat. “Definitely. The green button-down.” Luke spins Ashton around by his shoulders so he can face a mirror. “It makes your eyes look so pretty.”

Ashton’s eyes meet Luke’s in the mirror and he smirks at him. “Aw, you think my eyes are pretty?” he teases.

It might be Ashton’s imagination, but he thinks he sees Luke’s cheeks blushing pink. Just a little. “Of course I do. But I haven’t written poems about them like Olivia Baker,” he says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Olivia Baker has _not_ written poems about my eyes,” Ashton protests. This is one of Luke’s favorite things to tease him about. Olivia sits next to Ashton in history class, the side Luke’s not on, and she’s constantly passing Ashton flirty notes and, according to Luke, staring at him longingly during lectures. Luke likes to do reenactments at the lunch table, tucking his fist under his chin and staring wistfully at Ashton while Ashton messily eats a panini or something.

“She definitely has. Michael found one on the floor last week. And who can blame her,” Luke says, gesturing at Ashton in the mirror. “Not many people can manage to make a parka look hot.”

There’s so much Ashton could say. His automatic reaction is to send the compliment straight back to Luke, tell him how beautiful _his_ eyes are and how he could make a trash bag look hot. But it feels like crossing a boundary, so he plays it off. “That’s true. Maybe I should start wearing this to history every day and really make Oliva’s life miserable.” They laugh together, huddled in the corner of the bustling store, and it’s perfect, except that Ashton’s mind won’t stop churning.

Luke said Ashton is hot. But was that just Luke being friendly and charming like he is with everyone? Or was it something more personal? _Luke said he likes you, as more than a friend._ Is the version of Luke that Ashton sees the same as what everyone else sees? _Luke said he likes you, as more than a friend._ No, Ashton thinks. It can’t be. But maybe it just feels that way because Ashton _wants_ it to be true.

***

The dorm is dark and quiet and surprisingly cold when they return. Luke leaves Ashton at his door with a cheerful goodnight and a promise to wake up earlier the next day. Ashton’s sad to see him go, but he has a whole pile of English novels to keep him company the rest of the evening. He’s curled up in bed with _Carry On_ , several blankets piled on top of him to fight the unusual chill, when he gets a text from Luke.

 **Luke:** It’s fucking freezing and my window won’t close.

 **Ashton:** It won’t close or YOU can’t close it?

 **Luke:** It won’t close.

 **Luke:** I’m freezing my ass off.

 **Ashton:** You can come down if you want, but I don’t know if my room’s much better.

 **Luke:** It can’t be worse.

He shows up in Ashton’s doorway, piles of blankets in his arms, and makes himself at home. They sit next to each other in Ashton’s bed, reading quietly. Seeing Luke so comfortable in his space makes Ashton feel warm and fuzzy and weirdly proud. He’s earned Luke’s trust. Luke chooses to spend time with him. That feels like something to be proud of.

After a few chapters, Ashton can feel Luke’s eyes on him. “What do you want, Luke?”

“It’s basically tropical down here compared to my room,” he says from under his blanket mountain. “Would you mind if I, um, slept here tonight?”

“Um. Sure.” Ashton doesn’t want Luke to freeze to death, that’s all. He’s just concerned for the comfort and wellbeing of his friend. No need to make it a big deal.

And that’s how Luke ends up spending the night in Ashton’s bed. It’s awkward trying to get comfortable in the small dorm bed. At first, they both lay tensely on their backs, shoulder to shoulder. Ashton can hear every breath he takes, and every breath Luke takes.

“My feet are hanging off the edge of the bed,” Luke whines.

“So move them.”

Luke grumbles and flips onto his side, facing Ashton. He curls his knees up to make room for his feet. “Ow!” Ashton exclaims. “Get your bony knees out of my hip.”

“Sorry,” Luke mumbles, and oh god, Ashton can feel Luke’s breath on his neck. He pulls his blanket up higher around his face as Luke adjusts his legs, struggling to find a comfortable position.

Eventually Ashton takes pity on him and rolls onto his side, giving Luke more room for his knees. “How’s that?” he asks, grateful that in the darkness he can barely see how close he is to Luke’s face.

“Better. Thanks.” Ashton’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough that he can make out Luke’s lips curving into a smile as his eyes flutter shut.

He seems to fall asleep almost immediately. Ashton lays awake for hours, brain swimming with confused thoughts of Luke and Zayn and Liam and Luke and Luke and _Luke_ …

As always, he wakes up at 6:30 the next morning. He’s startled when he opens his eyes and sees Luke next to him. Like. _Right_ next to him. He’s curled in a tight ball on his side, tucked inside the slightly looser ball of Ashton’s body. They’re not _quite_ touching, but Ashton is still afraid to move, afraid any small shift of the mattress will wake Luke. He looks so sweet and content, arms hugging his own chest and deep, even breaths rustling the tangled curls around his face. His lips are pushed into a tempting pout and Ashton has to close his eyes.

It’s all so confusing. Luke is _taken_ , and even if he weren’t, he’s become Ashton’s best friend in Paris. Ashton can’t jeopardize that, it’s too much of a risk. Not to mention, Ashton has no idea what Luke is thinking. Or does he? There was the drunken _I like you_ last week. It keeps replaying in Ashton’s head like a skipping record, even when he tries to push it away.

Luke wakes up slowly. First his body shifts. Then he mumbles sleepy nonsense. His eyes crack open. He sees Ashton. He smiles, close-lipped but big enough for his dimple to appear. Ashton wants to poke it. Maybe with his tongue. But he’s not picky. He’ll take what he can get.

“Morning, Ash.”

“Morning, Luke.”

“What time is it?”

Ashton fumbles blindly around his bedside table until he locates his phone. “7:03.”

Luke’s smile grows into a full-blown grin and he lazily thrusts his fist into the air victoriously. “Told you I’d wake up earlier today.”

“My stomach is very grateful.” In reality, Ashton’s mostly just grateful this isn’t awkward.

“Let’s get pastries this morning.” Luke rolls onto his back and stretches. “That’s the best I’ve slept in ages. Your bed is magical.”

“Don’t tell Olivia,” Ashton replies.

Luke laughs, throwing his head back on his pillow and closing his eyes, and Ashton’s never had a more perfect morning.

***

Friday and Saturday are also spent wandering around the city with Luke, followed by Luke’s warm body in bed next to Ashton at night. But on Sunday, Luke says he has homework to do and disappears into his room after their morning coffee run. Ashton has homework too. He has no reason to be disappointed or hurt, but he is. He just doesn’t want his weekend with Luke to end.

Calum gets back around dinnertime and crushes Ashton in a hug. He’s reminded of his first night in the dorms, when he sat homesick and lonely while he listened to everyone around him welcoming each other back. Now he has people of his own. Calum asks what he and Luke did over break, and Ashton finds himself holding back the details. He selfishly wants to keep those moments with Luke to himself.

As the week progresses, Ashton begins to wonder if the weekend with Luke was a very long, very detailed dream. Luke’s being basically normal, but they don’t acknowledge the time they spent together over Thanksgiving at all, which is…odd. Luke’s spending more nights at Zayn’s, too, and that’s what really makes Ashton crazy. It’s too easy to let his mind wander, thinking about what they might be doing.

Instead, he tries to think about his upcoming trip home to Chicago. Only three weeks until he can be reunited with Harry! And until he can see Liam again, which is exactly what Ashton needs to snap out of whatever weird headspace he’s in over Luke. Every time he catches himself thinking about the curve of Luke’s lips or picturing Zayn undressing Luke behind his dorm room door, Ashton refocuses on Liam instead. How he misses Liam’s kind brown eyes, and how Liam used to bring Ashton Oreos when they worked shifts together, and how Liam would ask Ashton the meaning of lyrics in the songs playing over the store speakers.

The following weekend, Ashton tags along with Calum and Michael to the patisserie up the street. He always admires the beautiful displays of cakes and pastries in the window when he walks by, but it’s his first time actually going inside.

“I signed up for a rec soccer league!” Calum says excitedly as they stand in line, eyes skimming over the vast array of delicious treats in the pastry case in front of them.

“You found one? That’s great!” Ashton’s pleased his little idea turned into something Calum is excited about. Another problem, solved. (Although lately it seems like other people’s problems are the _only_ ones Ashton can solve. His own problems are another story entirely.)

“Yup, practice starts in March! I should probably start getting in shape for it.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “You do crunches for fun, Calum. I think you’re in fine shape.”

“But my cardio is trash!” Calum exclaims.

“You know what will help with that,” Ashton says seriously. “Mille-feuille.” He points at the tray of decadent layered pastry-custard-chocolate slices of heaven.

“Wow, Ash, you almost sounded French just then,” Calum teases.

“Luke taught me a bunch of dessert vocabulary during study hall yesterday.” It may or may not have been the best part of Ashton’s week. Only because he’s barely seen Luke since Thanksgiving, so just having some time with him at all was a bright spot for Ashton.

He ends up buying an extra mille-feuille for Luke. He owes him for the French lesson, after all.

On the way out of the patisserie, Ashton bumps into a vaguely familiar man in a neon orange jacket. The man brightens when he sees Ashton and starts talking in rapid-fire French. Ashton catches _bonjour_ and not much else. He stares at Calum with wide eyes, a silent plea for help. Calum steps in and chats briefly with the man, who Ashton is finally able to place as the friendly guy who works at CROCODISC.

“He was asking if you had plans to go back to Chicago for the holidays,” Calum explains after the man waves goodbye and slips into the patisserie.

Ashton smiles. “That’s nice. A few weeks ago when I was in he asked where I’m from in English and then I asked him if he has any pets in French. We’re pretty much best friends now.”

“He also asked where your boyfriend is,” Calum continues. “He meant Luke,” he clarifies when he catches Ashton’s confused face.

“Oh.” Ashton blushes, unable to meet Calum’s eyes. “I guess he’s usually with me when I go to the record store.”

“I guess,” Calum echoes flatly.

“It’s a good question, though,” Ashton says, trying push past the moment of awkwardness. “Luke has been M.I.A. most of the week.”

“He’s been at Zayn’s a lot,” Michael yells over the siren of a passing police car. “And he’s spending a lot of time alone in his room, too.”

“That’s weird, isn’t it?” Ashton asks.

Calum shrugs. “I think he’s trying to figure stuff out with Zayn.”

“Like working through their problems?” Ashton feels like such a gossip, but it’s like he’s physically incapable of minding his own business when it comes to Luke.

“Maybe. Or maybe not. Just…figuring it out one way or the other,” Calum replies cryptically.

Ashton just nods, trying to ignore the swirl of thoughts tangled in his mind.

***

Ashton stops at Luke’s room when they get back, dropping to a knee and holding the mille-feuille out to him like an offering when he opens his door. “For your French lesson yesterday.”

Luke seems surprised to see him, but he laughs gleefully once he connects the dots. “I knew there was a reason you’re my favorite student.”

“Nice try,” Ashton says, standing. “I’m your only student.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t be my favorite.” Luke takes the box of mille-feuille from Ashton and sets it carefully on his desk. “Want to come in for a minute?”

“I can’t stay. Harry’s calling soon.” Ashton would really love to stay with Luke for a bit, but he and Harry have had trouble coordinating their schedules lately, so he doesn’t want to miss this call.

“Oh.” Luke looks disappointed, just for a split second. Ashton’s heart races for no apparent reason. “I guess you guys have big plans to make for the holidays.”

Right now would be the perfect time to say goodbye, turn around, go back to his room. But Ashton doesn’t want to, not yet. “Yeah. Did I tell you Harry and Liam’s band has a show while I’m in town?”

“You mentioned they might.”

“Yeah, well. They do for sure. Now they’re rushing to figure out a band name.”

Luke smiles. “Well, if I think of any good ones I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, that reminds me. That guy from CROCODISC was at the patisserie. He was asking about you, and about our holiday plans.”

Luke scratches his head, frowning. His fingernails have been dark green since Monday. Almost the same shade as Ashton’s new coat. It’s the only clue Luke might actually remember those days with Ashton. “And you…understood him?”

“Well, no. Calum was there to translate. But thanks for the vote of confidence, Teach.” Ashton slaps Luke on the arm and Luke grins.

“Your flight to Chicago is the Tuesday before Christmas, right? In the morning?” Luke asks, just as Ashton is turning to leave.

Ashton freezes. “Yeah, around 10:30. Why?”

“My flight’s at 11. I thought maybe we could share a cab to the airport.”

“Sure. As long as you promise to be on time.”

Luke gives him an aggrieved stare. “I’ll be on time, Ash. I know how you get about these things.”

Ashton’s forehead wrinkles and his bottom lip pushes into a pout. “How do I get?”

Luke laughs and starts to shut his door slowly. “You should probably get back to your room. Harry will be calling soon. Thanks for the mille-feuille!” The door clicks shut in Ashton’s face.

“You’re lucky you’re cute!” Ashton yells through the door. He hears Luke laughing on the other side.

***

Ashton’s not sure he’s ever seen so many escalators in one place in his life. Michael convinced them all to spend their Friday night Christmas shopping and they’re at a department store with seemingly endless different floors. Ashton’s no stranger to massive department stores – he’s legitimately gotten lost in the State Street Macy’s back in Chicago on more than one occasion – but something about all these escalators in the middle of the store is really doing his head in. That, and the constant white noise of people babbling in French around him. It is really fucking crowded.

“You alright there, Ash?” Calum meets Ashton’s mildly panicked gaze over a display of fancy markers.

“Fine,” Ashton says, “It’s just a little overwhelming. All these people and all this stuff.”

“We don’t have to stay long,” Calum says. “I’m almost—"

“Speak for yourself,” Michael cuts in. “I have done exactly zero shopping and I am not leaving this store until I have found presents for everyone on my list.”

“It’s fine,” Ashton says, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t rush on my account.”

Luke smiles up at Ashton sympathetically. He’s sitting on the floor next to Calum’s feet, bored out of his mind. The fluorescent store lighting bounces off the display of markers and highlights Luke’s face in a rainbow glow. “We can go sit in the store café while these guys shop, if you want,” he offers. “I think they have macarons.”

Ashton doesn’t have to be asked twice. “Lead the way.” He holds his hands out to Luke and Luke grabs them, letting Ashton help pull him to his feet.

They have to ride what feels like 47 zig-zagging escalators to get to the café, which is somewhere either at the very top or the very bottom of the store. Ashton doesn’t know which way is up anymore. The café is much quieter than the rest of the store (probably because of the arduous journey to get there), and both boys sigh in relief when they enter the calmer space. The lighting is dim compared to the bright store lights and Ashton wouldn’t mind curling up in a booth with Luke and taking a nap. He shakes his head to dislodge the thought.

They stare at the case full of macarons, a delightful rainbow of perfectly-sorted cookies. Ashton truly appreciates Paris’s commitment to aesthetic beauty. “Do you want to pick the colors you like the most and see what happens, or do you want me to translate the flavors for you this time?” Luke asks, eyes roaming hungrily over the case. This isn’t the first time they’ve gotten macarons together. They have a system, usually.

“How about you pick out some you think I’ll like.”

Luke is intrigued. “Ooh, a challenge! It’s a lot of pressure but I think I can handle it.”

“Good, because all _I_ can handle right now is sitting quietly in a dark corner,” Ashton says, pointing at the booth he’s headed toward. Luke nods and heads to the cashier to place their order.

Ashton watches from the booth, fascinated by how every ordinary thing Luke does strikes him as the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Luke scratches the back of his neck while he tells the woman behind the counter his order. Ashton tracks every small movement of his fingers, pretending they’re his own. Luke lifts onto his toes repeatedly to watch as the woman boxes up their macarons. Ashton fixates on the resulting bounce of Luke’s ass, then immediately feels guilty about it and averts his eyes to the table in front of him.

Ashton used to watch Liam like this sometimes, when they had shifts together at the record store. Ashton would sit behind the counter while Liam organized albums or worked on restocking inventory. He’d be entranced by the flex of Liam’s biceps as he shifted boxes around the store, or by the way Liam’s chevron tattoo poked out from under the sleeve his favorite black Reckless Records hoodie.

It helps, remembering when he’d think of Liam this way. He always feels better, like less of a creep, when he can replace obsessive Luke thoughts with obsessive Liam thoughts. In a week Ashton will be back in Chicago and he can see Liam and maybe…maybe it’s time that he finally does something about his crush.

Luke brings Ashton coffee macarons, because of course he does.

***

For the first time since August, Ashton doesn’t wake up at 6:30am. He doesn’t know _what_ time it is when he’s startled awake by the sound of Luke pounding on his door, yelling that their cab is waiting, but by the time he throws on his clothes and lugs his suitcase down to the lobby, it’s after 8. Ashton hates feeling frantic like this. There’s no time for him to make sure he’s not forgetting anything before he leaves, and now they’re going to have to rush through the airport to make it to their gate on time.

Luke’s sitting in the cab, obnoxiously alert and with a gloaty little smile on his face. “Morning, Ash!”

Ashton gives him a dirty look, but Luke hands him a latte as a peace offering and Ashton is weak for both Luke and lattes, so his annoyance is short-lived. It’s his own fault, anyway. It was completely absurd of him to think he didn’t need to set an alarm for the airport. “Mmph,” he mumbles in response.

“Rough morning?” Luke asks innocently.

Before Ashton can growl back at him, his phone rings. Harry. Which is kind of weird, since it’s after midnight in Chicago. “Harry?” There’s concern in Ashton’s voice, and Luke looks over at him, worried.

“Hey Ash.” Harry sounds normal. Alive. Probably in one piece. Ashton exhales in relief.

“Hey man. Kind of late for you to be calling, is everything okay?”

It’s silent for a beat. “There’s something I need to tell you, and I wanted to do it before I see you at the show. Do you have a few minutes?”

There’s something in Harry’s voice that makes Ashton want to talk about anything other than whatever Harry needs to tell him. “Oh, right, did you guys end up picking a band name?”

“Yeah. Glitter Riot.” Harry’s voice is flat.

“Nice. I like that.” Does he like it? Who knows. He just needs to say something.

“Er. Thanks. But do you? Have some time to talk?”

“Um. Sure.” Harry hems and haws, trying to collect his thoughts. Whatever this is, it can’t be good. Ashton takes a deep breath and studies the back of the passenger seat headrest intently. There’s a small brown stain on the grey fabric, shaped like a duck. Ashton can feel Luke’s eyes on him. He points at the stain. “Duck,” he mouths. Luke chuckles quietly, but there’s concern in his eyes.

Finally, Harry stops making noises and manages to form some actual words. “You know I’ve been seeing a lot of Liam at band practice, right?”

“Mmhmm.” Maybe it’s not a duck. Maybe it’s a teapot.

“And how I have more shifts with him at Reckless now that you’re gone.”

“Mmhmm.” No, it’s definitely a duck.

“The thing is…” A pause. “The thing is that we sort of…got together. Like. Liam’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Are there thoughts in Ashton’s mind? He can’t be sure.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. I know you liked him. _Like_ him. I tried really hard to just be friends with him. I just…couldn’t. And you were gone. I felt so bad but I didn’t know what to do.” Harry usually speaks slowly, but now words are flying out of his mouth rapid-fire, like he needs to get them all out before Ashton angrily hangs up on him.

But Ashton’s not going to do that. He couldn’t. He’d be a massive hypocrite if he did.

“Ashton?” Harry’s voice is quiet and small.

“I’m here.” Ashton swallows, briefly meeting Luke’s eyes. Poor Luke. He can tell something important is happening, but he has no idea what, and he looks confused and helpless. Ashton is struck with the strange need to comfort him, even though technically _he’s_ the one who should need comfort right now. He puts his arm around Luke, pulls Luke close to his side. Luke comes willingly, and drapes an arm around Ashton’s chest, head falling on Ashton’s shoulder.

“What are you thinking?” There’s desperation in Harry’s voice now. Ashton feels bad for letting him suffer.

“It’s okay, Harry.”

“It is?” he asks, shocked.

“Yeah.” Ashton bites his lip, hard. “You can’t help who you like.” He glances down at Luke – at his golden hair and the shadow of his long eyelashes on the tops of his cheeks. “And you’re right,” he continues. “I wasn’t there. Liam doesn’t belong to me. If you guys like each other, it would be stupid not to get together just because of me.”

At the sound of Liam’s name, Luke tenses, and he lifts his head to watch Ashton appraisingly.

“That’s – that’s really cool of you, Ash. I’m still really sorry though.”

“It’s fine. Really. I’m just excited I finally get to see you.”

“Do you still want to come to our gig?” Harry asks hopefully.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Ashton replies honestly. “You guys are gonna be amazing.”

“I’ve really missed you, Ash.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“I should get some sleep. I have school tomorrow.” There’s a rustle of blankets in the background.

“Okay. I’ll see you in…16 hours,” Ashton says, glancing at the digital clock on the dashboard of the cab.

“See you.”

Ashton hangs up the phone with a shaky sigh.

Luke’s still looking at him intensely. “Is everything okay?”

Ashton feels tears pooling in his eyes. It doesn’t make sense, though. He hasn’t even had a chance to think about how he feels; how can he already be crying? “Harry and Liam are _together_ ,” he tells Luke, furtively dabbing at his eyes to try to dry any tears before they fall down his cheeks.

“Like…boyfriends?” Luke asks.

“Like boyfriends.” Ashton nods, letting his phone drop onto the seat next to him with a thud.

Luke briefly looks like he wants to murder someone, then his face softens and he squeezes Ashton in a hug. “Oh, Ash. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I think. I don’t know.” Ashton squeezes back. It’s nice to have something to hold onto.

“You didn’t seem upset with Harry.”

“I’m not.” All Harry did was fall for a guy who Ashton had a crush on. Meanwhile, Ashton’s in Paris lusting after a guy who’s in a long-term relationship. Harry didn’t do anything wrong, not really. But he can’t explain it to Luke without telling Luke how he feels about him.

“You’re a really good friend, Ash.” Luke says, leaning his head back on Ashton’s shoulder.

Ashton’s tears start to fall.

***

The 10-hour flight home gives Ashton plenty of time to think. He thinks about Harry and Liam while the middle-aged woman seated next to him elbows him as she eats her bland airline pasta. He imagines them kissing and whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears as a sassy flight attendant reprimands a passenger for queueing for the toilet. He tries to figure out how he _feels_ about it as he chugs his third can of Sprite.

He thinks about Luke, too. The feeling of Luke’s arms around him in the cab, and again when they hugged goodbye at the airport. The strange gravity in Luke’s voice when he told Ashton to have a happy holiday, and to text him every day. The blue of Luke’s eyes matching perfectly with the bright sky through the huge airport windows. He’s listened to _Skyway_ on repeat, like, 84 times while he thinks about Luke.

It occurs to Ashton that the amount of time he’s spent thinking about Luke on this flight is at least quadruple the amount of time he’s spent thinking about Harry and Liam. That probably means something, right? He knows it does, but he doesn’t want it to. The nebulous concept of Liam being an actual romantic option for Ashton was the only thing he could hold onto to keep him from having to admit how fucking far gone he is for Luke.

Now Liam is taken, Luke is still taken, and Ashton is…what, exactly? Certainly not taken. On the market? Do people still say things like that? Is that even something Ashton wants to be? He giggles to himself a little, imagining himself standing behind a glass case among a row of similar-looking young men for perusal by interested singles. It might not be a bad idea to put himself out there and look for new romantic prospects; get his mind off all boys with four-letter names that start with L. But _fucking_ Luke. As long as Luke exists, Ashton’s not sure anyone else will measure up.

His plane lands at O’Hare around 1pm, and even though Ashton didn’t sleep at all on the plane and is seriously ready for bed, he forces himself to stay awake until it’s time for Glitter Riot’s show. He takes the train to Wicker Park a little early, with plans to swing into Reckless Records to say hello to some of his former coworkers. He’s gotten so used to riding the Paris Metro and having absolutely no clue what anyone around him is saying that he’s uncomfortably distracted by the voices of the people sitting behind him on the train, yammering about the unseasonably warm weather.

Chicagoans _love_ talking about the weather. It’s never right, is the thing. You’d think they’d be happy it’s pleasantly warm, but _no_ , it’s not “Christmas weather” if it’s not snowy and cold. But if it were snowy and cold, they’d be complaining about that too. Ashton’s not immune. They’ve all done it. It’s how Midwesterners indicate to strangers that they’re not serial killers – _how about the weather_? Ashton pulls out his phone, suddenly curious about something.

 **Ashton:** Do Parisians complain about the weather a lot?

 **Luke:** Not really. They might mention if it’s a nice day or something. Why?

 **Ashton:** In Chicago people constantly complain about the weather.

 **Luke:** To be fair, the weather in Chicago is much more tumultuous than the weather in Paris.

 **Ashton:** You’re right. It is extremely tumultuous.

 **Luke:** Are you making fun of me?

 **Ashton:** Maybe a little.

 **Ashton:** Are you home yet?

 **Luke:** Almost. On the way from the airport.

 **Ashton:** How was your flight?

 **Luke:** There were these two girls sitting in my row who kept hitting on me. So, fantastic.

 **Ashton:** Were they actually hitting on you or are you just self-absorbed and arrogant?

 **Luke:** The one sitting next to me swiped my phone and put her number in under the name “You Can Fuck Me in the Toilet If You Want”

 **Ashton:** You’re messing with me.

 **Luke:** Am not.

He includes a screenshot of the contact. It comes through far too quickly for Luke to have just made it.

 **Ashton:** Wow. Are you going to call her?

 **Luke:** I think she meant it as a one-time only offer. On the plane, as it is clearly the sexiest form of transportation.

 **Ashton:** You could call her and find out. Maybe if you ask nicely she’ll fuck you in the toilet at Starbucks or something instead.

 **Luke** : You can’t talk to me like this while I’m a foot away from my mum.

 **Ashton:** You started it.

 **Luke:** You asked how my flight was.

 **Ashton:** Touché.

 **Luke:** Well done, Padawan.

***

Glitter Riot’s show is at a funky coffee shop with an adjacent stage and bar area. Ashton doesn’t get a chance to see Harry and Liam before the show, but he stakes out a spot near the front and settles in to wait. He’s just happy to finally have gotten his hands on a decent latte since landing in Chicago.

When Glitter Riot comes on stage, Ashton smiles and waves at Harry, who gives him a goofy grin and jazz hands. Liam catches his eye and nods at Ashton as he fiddles with tuning his guitar. Ashton expected to feel something. At least a twinge of nervous excitement at seeing Liam again. But there’s nothing. Glitter Riot plays a fantastic set, Harry making Ashton so proud as he struts around the stage, a confident leading man.

After the show, Harry invites Ashton out for pizza with the band. They’re crammed in a corner booth, waiting impatiently for their deep dish. Harry’s next to Ashton, peppering him with questions about Paris.

“Do you know French yet?” Geez. Way to go right for the kill shot.

Ashton snorts. “Not even a little. Every time I think I’ve learned something in class I go out into the real world and can’t understand anything anyone around me is saying.”

Harry gives him an encouraging smile. “You seem to be getting by.”

“My friends help a lot,” Ashton says. It could be weird, talking to Harry about his new friends, but Harry’s been really cool about it. Even if it weren’t for the fact that Liam’s arm is currently around him, Harry’s always been the sort of friend who is happy when Ashton’s happy. The fact that Ashton has friends in Paris to help him is a comfort to Harry, not a threat.

Ashton’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket.

 **Luke:** I’m listening to City In a Garden and thinking about you. What are you doing?

Ashton grins at his phone and Harry fixates on it. “What are you so smiley about?”

“Nothing, just one of my friends from Paris texting.”

Harry snickers. “You sound so fancy; _just one of my friends from Paris_.” He sticks his nose in the air and puts on a posh accent.

Ashton elbows him in the side as he taps out a response to Luke. “If you actually knew them you wouldn’t be saying that. They’re just as dweeby as you.”

“Dweeby! I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I am the lead singer for a rock band. By definition I can’t be dweeby.”

 **Ashton:** Waiting impatiently for deep dish pizza with Harry and the band.

 **Ashton:** What color are your nails today?

 **Luke:** Still green. I like it too much to change them.

 **Luke:** Tell Harry hello for me.

“You can definitely be in a band and still be dweeby, Harry.” Ashton looks up from his phone and Harry’s watching him with a smirk.

“Seriously, Ash, who are you texting?”

“Luke. My friend from Paris. He says hi.”

Harry’s eyes light up, probably remembering the novella Ashton emailed him after the first week of class, describing wet-from-the-rain Luke eating pear brioche in great detail. “Ah, Luke. No wonder,” Harry says knowingly.

Ashton has mentioned Luke to Harry several times, but he was always self-conscious about bringing him up. He didn’t want Harry to get the wrong idea, maybe even tell Liam about Luke as if he and Ashton were a _thing_. Not that it really matters now. Which…actually has its benefits, Ashton realizes. He can finally actually talk openly about his crush on his best friend with his other best friend. Fuck. Is this really what Ashton’s life has come to?

He nods at Harry. “Yeah. Luke.” He wants to say so much more but he doesn’t know where to even begin.

“Explains why you weren’t that broken up about me and Liam. You’ve got a little _ooh la la_ of your own back in Paris,” Harry teases.

Ashton clears his throat. “Luke and I aren’t…anything. He has a boyfriend, remember?”

Harry frowns, searching his memory. “Right. The alien guy.”

“Zayn.”

“But you like him? Luke?” Harry stuffs an entire piece of garlic bread in his mouth and watches Ashton carefully as he chews.

“Yes.” Ashton bites his lip, debating whether he wants to mention the next bit. Fuck it. “One time he told me he liked me.” Harry’s eyes widen and he swallows quickly, opening his mouth to talk. Ashton cuts him off. “He was drunk.”

“SO?” Harry’s voice is so intense everyone at the table turns to look at him. More quietly, he says, “You know what they say, Ash. Drunk words are sober thoughts. Or something like that.” He waves his hand absently and his bracelets clink together loudly.

Ashton grits his teeth. “But he has a boyfriend.”

And then he lets it all spill. He tells Harry everything about Luke, about Luke’s strained relationship with Zayn, about those nights over Thanksgiving break where Luke slept in Ashton’s bed. It feels good to finally let it out to _someone_.

Harry listens intently, and when Ashton’s done with his infodump, Harry folds his hands on top of the table with purpose and meets Ashton’s eyes. “You should tell Luke I say hello back,” he says carefully, narrowing his eyes. “And that he should get his head out of his ass and break up with his boyfriend since he’s clearly in love with someone else.”

***

If only it were that easy. If only Ashton were completely convinced it was true. But Harry’s opinion can’t be trusted. It’s based on Ashton’s one-sided version of the story, and Harry’s biased toward Ashton anyway – of course his interpretation is favorable toward his own best friend.

Once Ashton makes it home and into bed, he finally texts Luke again. He’s exhausted, possibly more exhausted than he’s ever been in his entire life, but he’s hoping for a hit of Luke before he falls asleep.

 **Ashton:** Harry says hi back.

Luke responds by calling him.

“How was pizza with the band?” Luke asks when Ashton picks up. Hearing his voice is so calming. Ashton sinks into his pillows and pulls his comforter up to his chin.

“Delicious.”

“Better than crepes, though?”

“Yes.”

“Are you serious?” Luke sounds wounded.

“Better than crepes, unless I’m getting them with you,” Ashton amends.

Luke makes a pleased grunt. “Olivia Baker keeps texting me to ask for your number.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you know she’s from Chicago too? I suspect she might be hoping for a little something in the Starbucks toilet over break. A holiday package, if you get my drift.”

“Yes, Luke, despite your extreme subtlety, I think I do get your drift.”

“Should I give her your number then?” The teasing has dropped from Luke’s voice, which is odd.

“Of course not,” Ashton grouses. “Although I do appreciate the interest. It’s probably stupid of me to turn her down given my list of current romantic prospects, which is, well, Oliva Baker and no one else.”

“That’s not true,” Luke argues. “Besides, fucking at Starbucks doesn’t exactly equal romance.”

“I thought I was just giving her a holiday package,” Ashton says dryly.

Luke snickers. “You do have a point though. The girl has written poems about your eyes, so I suppose she’s in it for your dick _and_ your heart.”

“Now you’re making me feel bad for not wanting to talk to her.”

“You said it yourself. You can’t help who you like. Or in this case, don’t like.”

Ashton is so fucking tired. But he loves talking to Luke. “I love talking to you,” he says, eyes slipping closed. Maybe it’s a non-sequitur, maybe it’s not. Ashton’s too tired to care if he’s making sense.

“I love talking to you too,” Luke replies softly. “Sounds like you should get some sleep.”

Luke’s right. He really should. But talking to Luke has been the best part of his day. (Why is it always the best part of his day?) He doesn’t want to hang up. “I haven’t slept in, like, 300 hours,” Ashton mumbles. “But I don’t want to stop talking to you.” He’s going to regret saying these things in the morning. But it’s not morning yet.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Ash. Promise.”

“Mmm. Send me pictures of your dog.” In his exhaustion, Ashton’s just trying to think of anything that he knows will keep Luke talking. And if there’s one thing Luke never tires of talking about, it’s his dog.

Luke giggles quietly. “How about I send you pictures of my dog while you sleep? Then you’ll have something cute to look at when you wake up tomorrow.”

“Are you going to be in the pictures too?” Ashton asks. He manages to stop himself from commenting on how much cuter the pictures will be if he is. He may be stupid with exhaustion and jet lag but he still has a small sliver of self-respect.

“Sure, Ash, if you want.”

“I want.”

“Fine. Now go to sleep.”

“Night Luke.”

“Night Ash.”

It’s not quite the same as those nights they spent together over Thanksgiving, but it’s not so different either.

Despite the time difference, Ashton talks to Luke every day of the holiday break. It’s mundane. Luke tells Ashton about helping his mom bake dozens of sugar cookies for Christmas. Ashton tells Luke about third-wheeling with Harry and Liam to see a movie. They sit on the phone, watching episodes of _Schitt’s Creek_ on Netflix together, but not really together. Ashton’s mom teases him relentlessly about how much time he spends talking and texting with Luke. She can see right through him, but she doesn’t make him say it, which Ashton appreciates.

***

Things are different when Ashton sees Luke again. He can’t exactly pinpoint what the difference _is_ , but there’s something comfortable between them now. They were best friends before, but it was shaky, like neither of them quite trusted it. But now there’s no question in Ashton’s mind, and he implicitly understands that Luke feels the same. And unlike after Thanksgiving, Luke doesn’t act like their constant communication over Christmas didn’t happen.

Luke got back to Paris before Ashton and was waiting for him in the lobby when Ashton’s taxi dropped him at the door. Ashton barely makes it inside the building before Luke is hugging him tightly and bellowing about how he smells like Chicago dogs. He helps Ashton carry his luggage up to his room and sits on the bed and watches Ashton unpack. It’s quiet at first, and the silence isn’t entirely comfortable.

Luke coughs, eyes on Ashton’s cluttered suitcase slung open on the floor. “I guess we used up all our conversation over the holiday.

Ashton chuckles. “Not much to report since I last talked to you,” he says. “All I did was sit on a plane for ten hours.”

“I, um, may have something to report,” Luke says nervously, fingers playing with the edge of Ashton’s bedspread. His nails are still dark green.

Ashton pauses for a moment, hands hovering over his sock drawer. “Oh?” He lifts his eyes, meeting Luke’s in the vanity mirror over his dresser. Luke’s wearing that blue sweatshirt again; the one that matches his eyes and makes Ashton want to throw himself off a cliff. Even at a distance Ashton can see the piercing blue of Luke’s eyes in high definition.

“Zayn and I broke up.”

Wait, what? “In the last ten hours?” It’s the stupidest thing for him to say, but Ashton doesn’t know where else to start.

Did Harry’s words over Christmas somehow psychically worm their way into Luke’s brain across the ocean? Luke’s probably upset, right? He didn’t really seem upset on the way up to Ashton’s room. Maybe he’s just in denial. Ashton wants to be comforting and thoughtful. Breakups suck. But he also wants to know _everything_ about it. How it happened, who initiated it, what kind of terms they ended on.

And he also kind of wants to do a celebratory dance that ends with him jumping on top of Luke and making out with him, but that is clearly not an appropriate response.

Luke just laughs. “Yes, actually. I went to see him as soon as I got back to Paris.”

Ashton stops shuffling around in his sock drawer and stumbles over his suitcase to sit next to Luke. “So this was something you had planned?”

“Yeah. I thought about it a lot over the holiday break. I know we don’t really talk about Zayn much, but things have been off with us since school started this fall.”

Ashton nods. “I kinda got that.” Luke looks surprised. “Michael and Calum are huge gossips,” Ashton clarifies.

Luke gives him a small smile. “It wasn’t _bad_ , though, is the thing.” Luke pulls his feet up under him so he’s sitting cross-legged, knee bumping against Ashton’s thigh. “It was just not quite right, and I thought it was a weird patch that we could get through.”

Ashton’s quiet, trying to read every expression on Luke’s face, every little inflection in his voice. Ashton doesn’t have a ton of experience with breakups, but Luke seems to be taking this one quite well considering he and Zayn were together for over a year. But Ashton also knows that it’s surprisingly easy to put on a brave face even when you’re feeling like shit, so who knows.

Luke continues, “But over the break I actually had time to really think about it. And I was thinking about how long it had been since we had really been happy together. I’ve been trying so hard these past few months with him. But I was running through all my recent happy memories, everything that stood out in my mind…” he pauses and looks at Ashton, “…and Zayn wasn’t in any of them.”

Ashton nods, carefully choosing his words. “You shouldn’t have to work so hard to be happy.”

Luke smiles, sad, but also hopeful. “You don’t think I’m a terrible person for breaking up with him for no reason?”

“That’s not no reason.” Ashton puts his hand on Luke’s knee, ever-so-lightly. “Not being happy is a pretty big reason.”

“I guess. I just feel like somehow I failed.” Luke drops his head, staring into his lap. He looks defeated, and Ashton can’t have this. He _won’t_ have this.

He squeezes Luke’s knee harder. “No. You didn’t fail. You did your best. You can’t force things that aren’t meant to work out.”

Luke lifts his head again, shakes his hair out of his eyes. There’s a glint in them that makes Ashton relax. “Like you and Olivia Baker.”

Ashton rolls his eyes. “You’re making fun of me, but you’re actually kind of right. I know Olivia Baker and I will never work out. You know you and Zayn will never work out. It just took you a lot longer to figure it out.”

“How are you so sure you and Olivia Baker would never work out?” Luke asks, absently running his finger over Ashton’s thumbnail, where Ashton’s hand is still resting on Luke’s knee.

“Easy,” Ashton shrugs. “She doesn’t laugh at your history puns.”

Luke laughs loudly, then cuts himself off suddenly. “We should do your nails,” he says, tugging at Ashton’s thumb.

Ashton eyes him skeptically. “I don’t know, Luke.”

Luke sits up straighter, bouncing a little on the edge of the bed. “C’mon, Ash! I just broke up with my boyfriend so you have to do what I want. It’s like the law or something.” He gives Ashton a sweet smile, eyes pleading, and that goddamn dimple on display. Let’s be real, Ashton was never going to say no.

“Fine.”

Luke grins and claps his hands together, hopping off the bed and over Ashton’s suitcase with surprising agility. “Stay there! I’ll go pick out a color!”

***

The Monday after the holiday break? It’s awful. Completely terrible. Ashton decides no one should be expected to be a fully functional human being the Monday after a holiday break, and certainly not a school full of students who only just arrived back in Paris from a variety of different time zones. Everyone is jet-lagged, and they look and sound like a hoard of zombies as they drag themselves from the dorm to the cafeteria for breakfast, mumbling tired morning greetings at each other.

Calum’s already at their usual table, and he gives Ashton a weak wave, dark circles under his eyes. “Hey Ash.”

Ashton sticks his tongue out. Not at Calum, necessarily. Just at the world in general, for forcing him to be conscious right now.

“Hear about Luke and Zayn?” Calum asks, too tired to be subtle.

Ashton nods. “I talked to him yesterday.”

Calum yawns, then blinks a few times. “That’s right. You guys were already back in the afternoon.”

“How’d you hear about it?” Ashton surveys his tray, sighing tragically when he realizes he only grabbed a croissant and forgot to get coffee. That won’t do.

“Luke texted me and Michael last night. It kind of seemed like he wanted us to know but he didn’t really want to talk about it.”

“Hmm,” Ashton mumbles, carefully tearing pieces off his croissant.

Calum cocks his head at Ashton. “Nice nails.”

“Oh.” Ashton stops his croissant dissection and studies his nails. They’re bright red. “Luke did them for me.” He lets himself flash back to the memory of yesterday afternoon - sitting on his dorm floor, back propped against his bed, while Luke held his hands gently, head bent over his lap as he carefully painted Ashton’s fingernails. Every so often he would pause to push a wayward curl out of his eyes and tuck it behind his ear and Ashton would bite down hard on his tongue, that little bit of pain helping him maintain self-control so he didn’t do something stupid.

Calum nods. “Did you guys talk much about the breakup?”

“A bit.” Ashton resumes picking at his croissant.

Calum looks at him searchingly. “And, um, nothing…new or unusual to report?”

Ashton wrinkles his nose and frowns. “Like what?”

“Nothing. I just thought maybe since he broke up with Zayn he’d –” Calum pauses abruptly, eyes on something behind Ashton, then sighs deeply. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“What?” Ashton presses, leaning forward in his chair. But before he can push further, a coffee cup appears on the table in front of him, connected to a hand with fingernails painted the same red as his own.

“Who else feels like shit this morning?” Luke’s voice is especially low and rough with exhaustion. It reminds Ashton of how he sounded first thing in the morning those handful of days he slept in Ashton’s bed.

Ashton and Calum both raise their hands in response.

“And I forgot to get coffee,” Ashton pouts.

“Good thing I brought you this one then,” Luke says, nudging the cup closer to Ashton as he sits down next to him.

“Did you really?”

“Figured I owed you for letting me dump on you yesterday. And for letting me do your nails.”

“You didn’t dump on me. I like talking to you. And I like my nails,” Ashton says defensively.

Luke tilts his head and smiles, pleased. “I’m glad. You can still have the coffee, though.”

“You’re a literal angel,” Ashton greedily grabs the cup and gulps down half of it at once. “And I did think of something new to report, Cal.”

Calum looks up from his tray in mild interest. “What’s that?”

“Harry and Liam are boyfriends.”

Calum’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Wait, _what_? Your friend Harry and record store Liam are _boyfriends_?”

Ashton stifles a yawn. “Yup.”

“But…is that…are you...when did that happen?”

“A few weeks ago, I guess.” Hmm. Ashton thought it might be kind of hard to tell Calum; might stir up some residual feelings of betrayal or rejection or _something_ , but he really isn’t that bothered.

“Are you okay? Are you and Harry okay?” Calum’s talking to Ashton but his eyes are on Luke, taking in the fact that none of this is news to him.

Ashton flicks his hand dismissively. “I’m fine. We’re fine. It was stupid of me to think Liam and I could be anything when I’m here. And it’s not Harry’s fault that he and Liam have a connection. I just want him to be happy.”

Calum’s going on a real face journey, expression shifting from concern to confusion to contemplation to wonder as Ashton talks. “That’s actually really mature, Ash,” Calum says sincerely.

Luke scoffs. “Ashton, mature?” He points his thumb at Ashton. “He must not have been sending you inappropriate jokes the entire holiday break.”

Ashton cringes a little, and looks at Calum apologetically. Luke’s not trying to call him out, but Ashton feels bad that he wasn’t really in touch with Calum over the break. Calum just gives him a tired smile, though. “Lucky for me,” he says. “Don’t worry, it’s okay,” is what Ashton hears. Calum is such a fucking good friend.

Ashton spends his first period French class completely zoned out, thinking about – what else? - Luke. He broke up with Zayn. Luke is single. _I like you. Not as a friend._ It’s a lot harder for Ashton to ignore Luke’s drunken words now that Luke is single. But he only just broke up with Zayn. The timing isn’t right. Not to mention Calum still has a massive crush on Luke as well, and Ashton’s close friendship with Luke is already a bit of a sore spot for Calum. Ashton doesn’t want to make it worse.

And then there’s the biggest issue of all, which is the fact that Luke is Ashton’s best friend. Is it worth risking that? What if Ashton puts himself out there and it freaks Luke out and things get weird with them? What if they try dating and it’s awful and it completely ruins their ability to be friends? Ashton would much rather have Luke in his life as a friend than not at all. But Ashton’s only human, and every day it gets harder and harder not to just grab Luke by the shoulders and kiss him fiercely.

***

“What’s in the box?” Michael’s head pops up from behind the huge cardboard box on the table in the dorm lobby.

“Birthday presents from home,” Ashton says, raising his eyebrows excitedly, elbow-deep in the box.

“It’s your birthday?” Michael peeks curiously at the contents.

“This weekend.”

“Is that…Fun Dip?” Michael’s voice is reverent, like he can hardly believe the presence of such a holy substance as Fun Dip mere inches from his face.

Ashton hands him a pack and Michael grins like a Cheshire cat. “Enjoy.”

“Handing out treats, Ash?” Now Luke’s behind Michael, craning his neck to see over him.

“Fun Dip.” Ashton holds out a pack to Luke.

Luke wrinkles his nose, but he takes the Fun Dip. “Why?”

“For my birthday!” Ashton thinks he sees Girl Scout Cookies at the bottom of the box and he starts tossing things out on the table haphazardly so he can get to them.

“It’s this weekend,” Michael adds, tearing open his Fun Dip and sticking his finger in.

“You’re supposed to use the stick, Michael,” Ashton scolds. “Otherwise you might as well be eating Pixy Stix.”

“Are there any Pixy Stix in there?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then I’ll stick with my current method, thankyouverymuch,” Michael replies condescendingly.

“Who cares about Pixy Stix,” Luke says, “We have more important matters to discuss. Like what to do for Ashton’s birthday this weekend.”

“We don’t have to do anything special,” Ashton says, finally getting his hands on a box of Thin Mints and ripping it open.

“I know what we could do,” Michael says, looking at Luke conspiratorially.

“What?” Luke asks, intrigued.

“What?” Ashton asks, concerned.

“Get Ashton drunk!” Michael smiles victoriously.

“Yes!” Luke says, at the same time Ashton says, “I don’t know.”

“Why not, Ash?” At least he’s pretty sure that’s what Michael’s saying, with his mouth full of Fun Dip.

“I don’t know. It still feels wrong. Like I’m not old enough.”

“But you are!”

Michael’s eyeing Ashton’s Thin Mints now, and Ashton hides the box behind his back. “I know. I guess it’s just –"

Luke looks at him suspiciously. “You’ve never been drunk before?” Ashton cringes in affirmation. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Luke says. “But it could be fun. You don’t even have to get drunk, and we can go home if you don’t like it.”

He’s being incredibly considerate and patient but Ashton can hear the eagerness behind his words. Luke wants to see Ashton drunk, he can tell. And to be honest, Ashton kind of wants to see Ashton drunk too. He shrugs. “I guess I can give it a try.”

Luke and Michael high five in celebration. Luke starts singing a little tune. “Ashton’s gonna get drunk; happy birthday drunk.”

“I thought you didn’t perform original songs for anyone but your mum,” Ashton snarks.

Luke smirks at him. “Consider it a birthday present.”

***

They wind up at some club a few blocks off campus on Friday night, French EDM blasting in time with flashing neon lights and the heavy scent of alcohol in the air. It’s the kind of place where the hero of an action movie has to face down a powerful mob boss in a creepy back room. His friends have been plying Ashton with drinks since they arrived an hour ago, and he has to admit he’s feeling pretty damn good.

Another thing that’s pretty damn good is whatever the fuck Luke is wearing. Not only are his pants _so tight_ , they’re, like, _textured_ or some shit? But that’s just the bottom half. Luke’s shirt is basically unbuttoned to his belly button and there’s just so. much. chest. If Ashton had known this is what Luke wore for nights out, he would have been recommending they hit up a bar _months_ ago.

He can’t seem to stop petting Luke’s thigh under the table, partially because he likes the feel of the material beneath his fingers, but mostly because he’s drunk and he wants to touch Luke and fuck it, he’s going to. “I like your pants,” he says, leaning close so Luke can hear him over the music. His voice sounds too loud in his own head.

Luke’s been drinking too, not as much as Ashton, but enough that he’s relaxed; a languid smile permanently etched on his face. He directs it at Ashton and Ashton’s blood heats. “Thanks. I like your face.”

Ashton giggles. “I like your face too.” They look at each other with hazy eyes. Time stretches. Ashton pushes his hand further up Luke’s thigh, never breaking eye contact. Luke doesn’t seem to mind. So Ashton moves his hand higher, and yet higher; consequences be damned. Being drunk is pretty great. Luke grabs Ashton’s wrist suddenly and shakes his head, but it’s not a reprimand. He’s still smiling. Ashton smirks and shifts his hand lower on Luke’s thigh, back to its original position, and Luke releases his wrist.

“You guys should just fuck and get it over with.” Ashton’s startled by Calum’s voice in his other ear and whips his head around. It was too quiet for anyone else to hear it, but it still sends Ashton into a panic spiral. He messed up. He was flirting with Luke too much and he hurt Calum and he’s a terrible friend.

But Calum doesn’t look hurt. He looks vaguely amused. “How drunk are you?” Ashton asks, peeking at Luke to make sure he’s not eavesdropping. He appears to be arguing with Michael about which neighborhood patisserie has the best pain au chocolat.

“Just a little,” Calum says. “Just enough that I can finally say what I’ve been thinking.”

“Which is –”

“—that you and Luke should fuck and get it over with.”

“Right.” Ashton looks at Calum anxiously, freaked out by having this conversation while Luke is just on the other side of him. His hand is still on Luke’s thigh, for fuck’s sake. “I thought, you, um…” Ashton stammers, brain slow to latch on to the right words.

“Have a massive crush on Luke?” Calum offers. Ashton nods. “I do. But he’s also my friend, and you’re my friend, and it’s obvious you guys are into each other. I want you to be happy. You of all people know how that goes. I’ll get over it eventually.” Calum shrugs, offers Ashton a despondent smile. Ashton’s heart breaks a little for Calum. He’s such a good friend; trying so hard to be supportive even though it’s painful for him. He’s done so much for Ashton and it just sucks that this is how the chips fell.

“Plus, it’s painful watching you two dance around it for months.” Calum rolls his eyes at Ashton, voice lighter than before. “I thought for sure Luke broke up with Zayn for you and there’d finally be an end to this madness.”

“It’s only been a week since they broke up,” Ashton says. As if that’s the important part. As if the possibility of Luke breaking up with Zayn _for him_ hasn’t just completely blown his mind.

“I know,” Calum says. “But you guys have known for way more than a week.”

Ashton frowns at Calum, confused. Known what, exactly? Calum gives Ashton an incredulous look, like _are you serious_ _right now?_ and gestures at Ashton’s hand on Luke’s thigh. Then he runs down the list. “You guys are together all the time. Even when you’re with me and Michael you’re in your own little world. You flirt constantly. Luke is ready to fight Olivia Baker every time she passes you a note in history. Oh, and not to mention the thing where you _slept in the same bed_. Repeatedly.”

“You know about that?” Ashton gasps.

“Luke does talk to me and Michael _sometimes_ , Ash.”

“But about _that_?”

Calum smirks, pleased as always to have a tidbit of Luke information that Ashton wasn’t privy to. “He was feeling kind of guilty about it and needed someone to reassure him he didn’t cross a line. Except he kind of did.”

“You think?” Ashton asks. “I was so wrapped up in him that weekend that I wasn’t really thinking rationally.” Not only did Ashton not think he would ever be saying such a thing to Calum, he certainly didn’t expect to be saying it while he’s tipsy in the middle of a bar with Luke pressed up against his side. Although he supposes the tipsy part kind of explains the rest.

“He crossed a line more than you did, Ash. It wasn’t even just the sleeping together thing. The whole weekend made him realize some things about his feelings for you.” Calum glances at Luke, making sure he’s still not paying attention to them. “He spent a lot of time with Zayn that week. I don’t know if he was trying to make it up to him, in a way, or if he was doing a direct comparison, and you won.”

Ashton nods along, his sluggish brain working to put all the pieces together. If Calum is saying what Ashton thinks he is saying, Luke’s _I like you_ wasn’t a fluke. He meant it, even if the sober version of him didn’t realize he meant it at the time. This thought…it changes everything and nothing about how Ashton had interpreted the following Monday morning, when Luke claimed not to remember what had happened. Not only that, but Calum isn’t mad about any of it? Which means…what does it mean?

Damn it. Why does Ashton have to be drunk right now? He’s not equipped to make sense of the situation, and he’s apt to do something supremely stupid with his inhibitions lowered and Luke next to him, single and apparently into Ashton and wearing those goddamn pants.

But also. It’s pretty great that he’s drunk right now, because he kind of doesn’t care.

He pokes Luke’s leg repeatedly to get his attention. When Luke turns to him, he still has that lazy smile on his face, his eyes so full of adoration. One thing is for certain, regardless of Ashton’s mental state – Luke is very cute when he’s drunk.

“Did you break up with Zayn because of me?” Oops. Ashton had meant to work up to it, hadn’t he?

But Luke only registers mild surprise. He chuckles, has the wherewithal to look a little guilty, biting his lip. That fucker. Then he nods slowly, bottom lip still caught between his toothy smile.

Ashton’s eyes widen and his mouth drops into a dopey grin. Huh. Well fancy that.

He wants to kiss Luke, _needs_ to kiss Luke, but something stops him. He doesn’t want it to be like this, with both of them drunk, and random strangers crowded around them. He wants to be sure it means something.

So he just says, “Cool,” and keeps grinning at Luke like an idiot.

“Cool,” Luke echoes, pushing Ashton’s hair back off his forehead with those painted-red fingers and meeting his eyes intensely. It feels nice. So nice. He really understands why drunk Luke was so eager to have Ashton play with his hair all those weeks ago. Hmm. He should probably say something else, right? But Luke gets there first. “You look good tonight, Ash. You look good.”

Ashton’s stomach flips and it takes all of his self-control not to throw himself on top of Luke; Calum and Michael can be collateral damage for all he cares. But that’s not how this is supposed to go. He takes a deep breath. “Thank you for taking me out for my birthday.”

“You’re having fun?” Luke asks.

“Yes. I always have fun with you.”

“Have you gotten everything you wanted for your birthday?” Huh. That’s a loaded question.

“Mostly,” Ashton says.

Luke gives him a knowing smile. “Well. The weekend’s not over yet. Happy birthday, Ash.”

***

Truly Ashton should get some kind of award for managing to get through the rest of the night keeping his hands (mostly) to himself and acting…well, whatever _normal_ is when you’re drunk. It’s not all that difficult for him to file away that little exchange with Luke in the back of his mind for future Ashton to deal with, because he’s got his friends and the music and the alcohol buzzing under his skin to distract him.

They don’t stay out too late – Luke wants to make sure Ashton’s first experience getting drunk doesn’t end in an abysmal hangover. They walk back to the dorm, loud and obnoxious as drunk teenage boys tend to be, but it’s Paris and no one cares. They all crush Ashton in the middle of a group happy birthday hug when they leave him at his door.

When he wakes up the next morning (six _fucking_ thirty), Ashton has a text from Luke from the night before.

 **Luke:** Extra credit trip to Louvre tomorrow for the birthday boy?

 **Luke:** Ew sorry I just called you birthday boy that was awful.

Their history professor is offering up extra credit to students who take a trip to the Louvre this semester. Ashton actually _really_ wants to go, but all his friends have already gone and none of them have been keen to return, with Calum whining _but it’s so crowded_ and Michael whining _but it’s so boring_ and Luke promising _someday_. And Ashton’s not about to go by himself. He may be a little more confident in Paris than he was six months ago, but he still dreads going to new places alone, where he doesn’t know how things work or what to expect.

 **Ashton:** Yes! And you can’t take back your offer when you wake up.

 **Luke:** Joke’s on you, I’m already awake.

 **Luke:** Just sitting here, waiting patiently to go to the Louvre.

Now that his head is clear, Ashton is worried it might be awkward to see Luke this morning. Do they address last night? They were drunk, but not _that_ drunk. Even though it could be uncomfortable, Ashton would much rather talk about it than pretend it didn’t happen. Luke admitted to breaking up with Zayn _for Ashton_. What does that mean for them? Ashton needs to know. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop obsessing about it until he has answers.

They meet in the dorm lobby, empty and quiet at such an early hour on Saturday morning. “You good to walk, Ash?” Luke asks by way of greeting. “We’ve got some time to waste before the museum opens.”

“Sure. Coffee on the way?” The _what does it mean_ conversation can wait, maybe. Until the right moment. Until they’ve both been sufficiently caffeinated, at least.

Luke nods, and they naturally fall into step next to each other, heading in the direction of their favorite café. They move at a leisurely pace, but they still get to the Louvre early enough that they have to wait in a long entry line. Ashton doesn’t mind, though – the area around the entrance to the Louvre is an experience of its own, with the famous glass pyramid and the surrounding fountains.

And yeah, maybe waiting in line would be the perfect time to say, _Hey, Luke, about last night…_ , but then again, maybe it’s not. If the conversation doesn’t go well, their day is ruined before it even starts. There’s not really a logical reason for Ashton to think it _won’t_ go well, but he still doesn’t want to risk it now that he’s finally made it to the Louvre. And Luke’s in _such_ a good mood, laughing at every little joke Ashton makes and enthusiastically snapping photos of the two of them surrounded by the scenery of the museum courtyard. No. Now is not the time.

Once they’re finally inside, they’re routed onto an escalator that takes them down to an atrium below the pyramid. It’s sort of underground, and even with the light coming through the glass, the space is dim. Ashton is completely overwhelmed almost immediately by the sheer amount of people bustling around the atrium. Luke finds a map and they crowd into an out-of-the-way nook to try to organize a plan of action.

“Where do you want to start?” Luke asks, leaning into Ashton so he can see the map. The map that…doesn’t make any sense at all. Luke takes in the confused scrunch of Ashton’s forehead and reads his mind. “Don’t worry about planning a route, this place is a maze. Just tell me what you want to see.”

Even that is a hard question to answer. There’s _so much_ Ashton wants to see, but something on the map catches his eye. “Napoleon’s apartment? Is that a euphemism or something?”

Luke grins. “Nope, literal. And it’s a trip. Let’s go.” He grabs Ashton’s hand and tugs him toward an escalator (always with the escalators, this city). Ashton falls into step next to him, and their hands stay connected as Luke leads them through a variety of staircases and hallways.

Eventually they end up in a massive room full of paintings, and Luke stops Ashton at the threshold and holds him by the shoulders. “Okay, so the thing you need to accept right away with the Louvre is that you’re going to have to walk right past a bunch of really cool stuff to see the even cooler stuff. You can’t let yourself get too distracted or we’ll never actually get to see all the things you want to see the most.”

“Got it, Coach,” Ashton replies with a smirk.

“I’m your French teacher _and_ your coach now?” Luke steps into the gallery and Ashton follows him.

“Yes. It happens all the time at public schools in the US. The guy who teaches government is also the assistant football coach, even though his only experience is watching football on TV. That kind of thing.” Ashton’s trying to keep up with Luke’s pace through the gallery – it’s not all that fast, because they are, in fact, in a maze – but it’s still hard because there are paintings _everywhere_ threatening to catch Ashton’s eye and distract him.

“That reminds me,” Luke says, slowing his pace so Ashton can keep up more comfortably while his head is whipping around, taking in his surroundings. “There’s an important French word I wanted to check and see if you know.” He stops them in the middle of a dark alcove with washed-out landscape paintings on the wall.

“Okay…” Ashton’s fully expecting Luke to quiz him on some art-related terms.

Luke waits until Ashton’s gaze drifts away from the paintings on the wall and onto his face before he speaks. “Do you know how to say _kiss_ in French?”

Ashton swallows hard. Where is this going? He racks his brain, brow wrinkling in thought. He’s sure he knows this one. He must have heard it a million times. But Luke doesn’t give him very long to consider before he smiles at Ashton’s stymied expression and carefully says “Un bisou.”

“Un bisou,” Ashton echoes, the vowels all too sharp and heavy in his unpracticed accent.

“Very good.” Luke closes his lips around his smile, like he’s keeping a secret. Ashton cocks his head curiously. “You can pay me any time,” Luke says casually. Oh. _OH_. “Now would be ideal but…” Luke trails off.

This is about as close to _the right time_ as Ashton can hope for, and he doesn’t intend on letting the window of opportunity pass by. He steps closer to Luke; watches Luke’s body language for any sign of distress. Nothing. Just a tiny smirk on his lips and a challenge in his eyes. Normally Ashton’s not big on PDA but he figures this is Paris; people probably make out everywhere here. Including (maybe even especially) in front of extremely old, priceless art. This should be fine. He tentatively puts his hands on Luke’s waist, then pauses again, looking up to meet Luke’s eyes. “This is…what you meant, right?”

Luke licks his lips and nods. Ashton quickly closes the gap between them, and he feels Luke’s arms fold around his back as their mouths meet. Ashton tries to keep it quick and inoffensive to any innocent passersby, but Luke’s not really having it. His strong grip keeps Ashton close, and he deepens the kiss before Ashton can pull away. Ashton lets himself melt into it, lets his hands dig harder into Luke’s hips, lets his heels lift off the ground just slightly so he can get a better angle.

Now that it’s actually happening, Ashton’s struggling to catalogue anything in sufficient detail. He wants to remember the exact sensation of Luke’s lips moving on his, the way Luke’s stubble scrapes against his chin just slightly, the feeling of Luke’s hands grasping at his shoulders with surprising force…he wants to keep it all locked in his brain forever, to relive over and over again, but it’s too much at once. And it’s over too soon. They break apart with guilty smiles when they hear a pointed cough from a girl sitting on a nearby bench.

“Definitely my favorite student,” Luke says, taking Ashton’s hand again and leading them back into the labyrinth of paintings.

“But I’m still your only student.”

“Just how I like it,” Luke replies.

Ashton can’t believe he’s going to ask this question in the company of the Mona Lisa. She’s around here somewhere and he can only assume she hears everything that happens in the halls of the Louvre. “So, um, last night –”

“When you asked me if I broke up with Zayn for you and I said yes?” Luke finishes.

“Yeah. That.” Ashton didn’t expect him to make it this easy.

Luke lets himself drift closer to Ashton’s side, lowering his voice to avoid annoyed stares. “I didn’t really plan on having this conversation at the Louvre.”

“Well neither did I,” Ashton gripes, “You’re the one who decided it was the best place for our first kiss.”

Luke smiles, caught. “I know. I couldn’t help it. You gave me the perfect opening.”

“I’m not complaining. I just…need to understand what’s happening.”

“Let’s sit, at least.” Luke glances around, then pulls Ashton through a well-disguised door and into a stairwell vestibule lined with benches. They sit down, each with one leg bent under the other so they can face each other.

Luke runs a hand through his hair, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. Ashton waits patiently, picking at the remnants of his red nail polish. “So, um,” Luke starts, stops, chews his lip.

“So…” Ashton gently prompts. He doesn’t really know what this conversation is supposed to be. He wants to make this as easy as possible but he’s not sure what Luke’s hung up on.

Finally Luke exhales deeply. “I guess I’ll just put it all out there. I like you, and I have since…well, since you flipped me off at breakfast on the first day of school. But I’m pretty sure I already told you that I like you a long time ago.” He looks up at Ashton for confirmation and Ashton wiggles his hand in a _kinda sorta_ gesture.

Luke cringes, cheeks turning pink. “Right. At first it wasn’t a big deal. Just a little crush. But we started spending more time together and it was –“ Luke purses his lips. “—it just felt different.”

“Different from what?” Ashton asks.

“From everything. What I felt about you – what I _feel_ about you – isn’t something I’ve felt about anyone, even in the early days with Zayn.” Ashton’s rarely seen Luke this intense. It’s kind of exhilarating. Luke places a hand over Ashton’s, forcing him to stop picking at his nail polish. “I told you about how before I broke up with Zayn, I thought about all my recent happy memories, and he wasn’t in any of them?”

Ashton nods. Luke leans closer. “Well. You were in all of them.” He shrugs, voice suddenly much lighter. “Seemed pretty obvious what I needed to do once I realized that.”

“Break up with Zayn, wait a week, get me drunk, then kiss me at the Louvre?” It doesn’t really matter at this point. It doesn’t need to make sense. But Ashton still wants it to.

Luke stifles a laugh. “I knew I needed to break up with Zayn either way, and I knew I wanted to kiss you, but I wasn’t sure you would be into it. If you liked me like I like you.” Ashton scoffs. As if there was any question. “I was _pretty sure_ you’d be into it,” Luke clarifies with a grin. ”But I needed some time to work up to it. The fact that you got drunk last night and tried to grope me really helped with that, actually, so thanks.”

Ashton rolls his eyes, but he’s snickering. “You weren’t complaining.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t.” Luke shrugs, smiling brightly at Ashton. “And now we’re here, and we’ve kissed, and I thought maybe we could do that again sometime, hopefully soon. And then again after that. Repeatedly. For the foreseeable future.”

“Literally any time,” Ashton says. “Well. Any time it’s not going to get us chased down by the Louvre makeout police.”

“Right,” Luke agrees. “And so we’re clear, I mean kissing in addition to, you know. Other things. Hanging out. Watching movies. Getting crepes. Cuddling in your bed. The usual.”

“We’re clear.” Ashton is outwardly calm, but inside he’s losing it. Completely gone. Mind whirring with all the potential ways he wants to spend his days with Luke, because now he can think about those things, and it’s not wrong or forbidden. It’s just the way it’s supposed to be.

“That’s probably a real thing,” Luke says, voice serious.

Ashton shakes his head, confused. “What?”

“The Louvre makeout police. They’ve got the division of the Louvre police that makes sure no one climbs on the statues, the division of the Louvre police that makes sure no one sits on the ledges, and the division of the Louvre police that makes sure no one makes out in the dark corners.”

Ashton smirks. “Yeah, this was actually a really shitty place to bring me for our first date, Luke. It _seems_ romantic to go to the art museum, but then we can’t even make out without getting arrested.”

Luke shakes his head. “First of all, I would argue this is nowhere near our first date. It was probably…” he scratches at the corner of his mouth thoughtfully. “It was probably CROCODISC.”

“The night I met Zayn?”

“Uh.” Luke’s shoulders shrink in on him guiltily. “Yes? But you know what I mean. I wasn’t thinking of it like a date at the time.” He rubs at his forehead aggressively. “That sounds terrible. I’m a terrible person.”

“You’re not a terrible person,” Ashton says, scooting forward on the bench to place his hands on Luke’s thighs. “You were a very confused person.” He gently pulls Luke’s hand off his forehead, then leans in and kisses him gently, eager to remind himself of the feeling of Luke’s lips. Luke kisses him back, and even though Ashton expects it, he still feels a pleasant little flutter in his belly when he realizes he can keep doing this, kissing Luke, any time he wants; and Luke will keep kissing him back.

They part quickly, still paranoid about grumbles from other museum patrons. Luke places his hands over Ashton’s, their eyes locking together. “You’re right, Ash. I was so fucking confused. But I’m not confused anymore.”

Ashton smiles softly. “Shall we go see Napoleon’s digs?”

Luke nods, pulling them up to standing. “Let’s do it. You’re going to love it. The man really had a thing for pink.”

“And I do love pink,” Ashton says agreeably.

Luke pulls Ashton closer, leans down and kisses him quickly – too quickly – then grasps Ashton’s hand tighter to pull him back into the gallery. “Maybe I can paint your nails pink tonight.”

***

**Epilogue**

It wasn’t exactly planned, both of them picking colleges in Chicago, but it wasn’t a complete accident either. Ashton had always intended to stay in the city for college, but it was a surprise when he learned that Luke had applied to the music school at the University of Chicago before he even met Ashton. Luke’s decision to attend, however…well, it may have been slightly influenced by Ashton.

It had been scary, packing up and leaving Luke and all the amazing memories they had made together in Paris, but knowing they would come back together in Chicago in the fall was enough to get them both through the summer.

“Can you show me that serial killer’s crazy murder castle?” Luke rips the tape off a large brown cardboard box and looks at Ashton excitedly.

“I can show you where it was,” Ashton says, hands busy placing books on the empty shelf of Luke’s dorm room wall. “It doesn’t actually exist anymore.”

“Oh.” Luke pouts in disappointment, returning his attention to unpacking. “Very bad planning. They should have known people would want to see a murder castle.”

“Don’t worry, Luke. There are a million other Chicago landmarks I can show you.” And just because he wants to, because he can, because this is the first day he’s seen Luke since May and he missed him so much over the summer – Ashton stops what he’s doing and surprises Luke with a sneaky hug, his chest pressed to Luke’s back and his head tucked into Luke’s neck. It catches Luke off guard enough that he squeals and drops the shampoo bottle he had been holding.

Ashton laughs apologetically. “Sorry. I just missed you.”

Luke leans back into Ashton with a sigh. “It’s okay. I missed you too.”

Ashton can’t wait to show Luke around Chicago and take him to all the places he’s heard Ashton talk about a million times. He wants to show Luke Chicago the way Luke showed him Paris; wants Luke to fall at least a little in love with his city. It’s only fair, since Luke’s thoughtful introduction to Paris made Ashton fall in love with both the city _and_ with Luke.

There’s so much to do and see. But they’ve got time.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr [@staticsounds](https://staticsounds.tumblr.com/); come say hi!


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